It's spelt J-A-C
by onetinynaylor
Summary: When Poppy Jax's mum dies at Holby City hospital, it's an unlikely face she turns to for support. She becomes wrapped up in the world of a formidable heart surgeon. But what will happen when her dad returns? - Poppy Jax is my character- -Rated T for swearing- -First fanfic ever so please review!-
1. Chapter 1

I always start the day with a black coffee. I don't actually like it, but everyone drinks black coffee right? It's a thing now.

I got this special cinnamon sugar stuff at Christmas in a Starbucks set so I always throw some of that in and it doesn't taste so bad. I'm making some at the breakfast bar when Mum walks in.

She looks worse than yesterday, and I didn't think that was possible. Her dressing gown is wrapped tightly round her, the cuffs stained with smudged mascara. Her skin is pale and sallow, apart from the grey circles around her eyes.

She's getting worse.

"Coffee, Mum?" I ask her. She nods and I start fiddling around with the kettle, just so I don't have to look at her, at what she's become.

My mum has lung cancer. She's never been a smoker, but my grandad was. Life's a bitch, isn't it?

I pour the water, stir in the coffee granules, slop in some milk and dollop two teaspoons of sugar in. Handing her the steaming mug, I say "I need to go Mum, if I get another late mark I'm gonna get a half hour after school detention."

"You don't want that, Pops."

Mum coughs between words, and I hate it. I know she can't help it, but it just reminds me how ill she is. I must have winced visibly, because she gives me an odd look.

"You ok?" she asks, sipping her coffee.

I nod quickly, pick up my school bag (it's this gorgeous red leather backpack from Zara and I wanted it for ages and when Dad came back from his business trip to Atlanta he took me to buy it because he felt bad for being away for so long and now it's my favourite thing ever), and grab my phone from the worktop. I lean over and give Mum the obligatory goodbye kiss on the cheek, grab my keys and head out the door as soon as I can.

The thing is, and I hate myself for it because I don't know how long she has left, but I can't bring myself to spend time with her. It's not a normal mother daughter relationship, we don't go shopping together or to the cinema. We don't do any baking together, we don't go to the gym together, and we can't even watch TV properly without Mum having to have a lie down. My friends don't get it either. They have perfectly healthy mothers, who happily do mumsy stuff with them.

Speaking of friends, Izzy is waiting for me at the end of the road, school skirt hitched up in that way that makes it wonky.

"Iz, your skirt is wonky as hell mate" I reach over and give her a hug. Izzy's my best friend.

"Shut up it's meant to be like this," she laughs it off, but rearranges herself when she thinks I'm not looking.

"Did you do the biology practice paper?" she asks me, as we trudge up the hill towards school. "Bare effort, I swear to God we didn't learn any of the content either."

I laugh and agree with her, but the truth is I didn't do it. I didn't have time, I had to get Mum across town for her chemo session yesterday afternoon. I never have time for school work. But Izzy is from the sort of family that would frown upon skipped homework so she always does everything. She's super clever as well, although she always pretends to be dumb. I don't get that – if I was as smart as Iz, I'd be the most unbearable nerd ever just for the fun of it.

It turns out that I was supposed to do the biology test, and I have a 10 minute after school detention for not doing it. Year 10 is so intense, I swear. It's not even GCSE year and they're already proper piling on the pressure.

So I'm making my way home alone because all my friends left earlier than me, and I start to get this feeling that something isn't right. You know when you have this feeling in your stomach? You just feel so uncomfortable. That's how I feel.

And as I walk up to the front door and turn the key, it gets worse.

I walk into the kitchen, and there's Mum, still in her dressing gown, lying on the sofa by the window.

Not moving.

"MUM!" I shout, in case she's asleep "I'm home!"

She doesn't even twitch, let alone wake up and respond. Now I'm freaked out. I walk over and touch her neck to feel her pulse.

There is none.

The panic rises in my chest and I want to scream. What the actual fuck? She can't be dead, she can't be dead, no, that's not happening, not now, not today! I'm not ready.

I pick up my phone and call 999 for an ambulance. The operator tries to be all calming and nice but I shout her down, spouting medical vocab down the phone until she gives up trying to subdue me. It's just minutes before the ambulance pulls up.

The paramedics lift Mum onto a stretcher and wheel her out of the house. Her dressing gown has come untied, the edge is trailing. I want more than anything to tuck her up again, but they won't me near her. I slam the front door and run into the back of the ambulance.

"Is she going to be ok?" I ask the paramedic.

She smiles at me kindly, while placing an oxygen mask over Mum's face. They found a pulse, but it's weak. Very weak.

"It's not far to Holby General from here, we'll do the best we can."

The ambulance ride takes 10 minutes, max, but feels like a lifetime. It's a tin box on wheels, and it's full of all this terrifying medical equipment, and in front of your very eyes, the person you love the most in the world is unconscious on a stretcher, wobbling slightly with every corner. I hate it.

When we reach the hospital, there are doctors waiting for us. It's not the hospital we normally go to for her treatment; there's a specialist cancer centre on the other side of town. This is a proper hospital with an A&E and so many buildings I could never imagine knowing my way around. The paramedics don't even bother dropping us at A&E, they take us straight to a proper department and the doctors waiting are specialist lung doctors.

I'm doing my best to hold onto Mum's hand so I don't lose her, when a doctor with long ginger hair pushes me out of the way, and starts running with the stretcher into the building.

"Move!" she shouts "Ok, BP is far too low, breathing shallow, I want an X-ray, ECG, Pulmonary Lung Function, bloods, everything!"

I reach out to grab Mum's hand again, because everything the pushy woman just said was terrifying. Icy hand round my heart terrifying. But she shoves me against another doctor.

"Zosia, take care of that would you?"

Without warning, my eyes fill with tears and I can't help myself. I'm sobbing. She's dying and I can't even be there. The doctor doesn't get it, no one gets it.

The hot tears running down my face start to become angry tears, and I'm psyching myself up to run after them when two cool hands appear on my arms. I spin around and come face to face with another doctor, with dark hair and a calm expression.

"I need to get in there!" I shout "I need to be with my mum!"

"I'm Doctor March," she says back "and I'm going to need you to come with me instead."

I'm so confused now that all I can do is stare as the stupid, stupid tears keep running down my cheeks. Doctor March puts her arm round my shoulder and steers me into the building, through the reception and into a lift.

"What's your name?" she asks, as the doors to the lift shut.

"Poppy Jax." I reply, rubbing the tears off my cheeks. I feel inside my blazer pockets and note with relief that my phone is there. I need to call dad, I need to tell him what's happening, he needs to be here. They might be divorced but that doesn't mean he doesn't care.

The doctor has been talking to me the whole time we've been in the lift, but I haven't heard any of it. The doors open onto a busy ward and she walks me into a room decorated with pictures of flowers.

"Do you want a drink?" she asks. A drink? Now? Is she mad?

I think my expression must have given my thoughts away because she nods, and says "I'm going to check up on your mum, and I'll come back and talk to you in a few minutes, ok?"

I nod and she closes the door. I sink down onto the surprisingly uncomfortable sofa and feel the tears spring back into my eyes. Get a grip Poppy.

I ring dad 7 times but have no luck, and so I leave several messages explaining the situation. He has a PA but I don't have her number and anyway he's probably still in Delhi. That's where he was last time I checked.

Doctor March doesn't come back. About 20 minutes in to the wait, the ginger woman who pushed me earlier comes in and shuts the door. She's carrying a bottle of water.

"I'm Miss Naylor, I'm a Cardiothoracic Consultant" she says "This is for you. Crying is thirsty work."

"How's my mum? What's happened?" I say. I'm so worried that I don't even bother with the water. Nice of her though, I guess.

She sits down next to me, looking serious. "I'm so sorry, Poppy. Her blood pressure dropped and we were unable to get it back up again."

"What does that mean?" my voice is trembling and my vision's gone all blurry. It can't be what I think she's saying. It can't.

She puts a hand on my shoulder. "We lost her on the operating table. I'm so sorry."

She's gone.

I can't stay here, in this stupid flower room with this frowny ginger woman. I can't stay here. My mum is dead.

I run.

I make it as far as the benches outside the hospital before I have to stop. There's something stopping me from seeing, and I can feel it running down my cheeks. My lungs are burning, my chest is tight, and my throat is raw. I hear someone screaming and realise it's me. I feel my legs tremble and give way, and I crash down to the floor.

My mum, my one and only mummy, the only person in this world who is always there for me, has gone. Forever. She's gone, she left me here alone.

As I'm on the floor I feel someone scoop me into their arms. I smell an unfamiliar perfume, and my chin rests on an unfamiliar shoulder as my tears stain their clothes. I cling on for dear life.

After a while, my body wrenching sobs subside and the someone lifts me with them, and sits me on the bench. I open my eyes and see Miss Naylor, the scary shouty pushy skinny ginger one from earlier. The last person I want to see. The person that told me my mother was dead, and the person who pushed me away from her so I never got to say goodbye.

"Get away from me!" I shout, pushing away, jumping from the bench, trying to run. "You didn't let me say goodbye! You pushed me away and she needed me, I hate you!"

She grabs onto my arm and I start screaming, kicking out. She still won't let go. What is this woman's problem? Leave me alone!

She grabs hold of both my shoulders and stares me square in the face.

"You couldn't have done anything, Poppy. I needed to get there to try and help her. Missing out on holding her hand before she died doesn't change the time you did spend together. She would never have known if you were there or not."

"Of course she'd have known, I'm her daughter, her only child, the only one who looks after her!" I hate her. How dare she tell me what my own mum would feel? How would she know?

"No, Poppy!" she shouts back, startling me "It wouldn't have made a difference. I'm telling you the truth."

I wriggle free of her grasp and sink back onto the bench.

Miss Naylor sits down next to me.

"I've looked after her for 2 years. Since she got diagnosed. 2 whole years. I was 12 when she was diagnosed and all I did since then is cook and clean and pay the bills and take her to chemo on the bus. I quit gymnastics. I quit piano. I quit drama club. She was my whole life."

I look over at Miss Naylor, properly. Her hair is a striking shade of deep ginger, and her cheekbones are insane. She doesn't even need to contour, and if anyone actually contoured like that, it would look ridiculously fake. That's how sharp they are. She's wearing glasses and navy blue scrubs and she's got quite cool Air Max 1's in the limited edition burnt metal colour. She looks back at me and I'm suddenly conscious of my makeup streaked face, scruffy school uniform, broken black Vans. I look like a mess.

I am a mess.

"What am I going to do?" I whisper.

Miss Naylor puts an arm round my shoulder. She doesn't look like the hugging type, actually. She looks pretty fierce. But still, I lean onto her, because who else do I have to lean on?

She speaks over the top of my head "I'm going to need you to come back up to the ward with me and wait in the relatives' room while we sort out some things. Then we'll see about finding you a place to stay. Is your dad about by any chance?"

I pull away from her sharply "I'm not going back into that room, I can't stand it."

"OK, that's fine. You'll have to wait in my office. Your dad?"

"My parents are – were – divorced, he's in Delhi on business and I can't get hold of him. Never see him anyway. He's always away."

"OK." She says, and stands up. "Ready?"

I stand to follow her, and look back at the bench. There's a red stain where I've been sitting, and no doubt a matching one on the back of my skirt. Miss Naylor clocks it too, and I'm mortified. For fucks sake, what kind of timing is that?

I slip off my blazer and tie it round my waist, before following her inside. When we're safely in the lift, I look at my feet so I don't have to look at her, and say "I don't have anything with me."

"It's ok." She says. "I do."

We move through the ward towards her office, and Doctor March from earlier comes up, puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"Jack, we need a contact." She says to Miss Naylor. Jack is definitely a boy's name.

"Get hold of social for me please, Zosia." She says over my head.

I spin around in fury "Not social services! I am not going to some shitty little children's home, I'm fine by myself!"

I mean every word. I'm not going into care and that's final.

Jack or Miss Naylor or whoever the hell she is puts two hands on my shoulders and steers me into her office. There's a black woman sitting at one desk, who looks up and smiles at me. I smile back, in spite of myself.

Miss Naylor fumbles around her handbag for her keys, and then takes me to a locker room. She hands me a little washbag, a pair of pants, and some leggings.

"I know its gross wearing other people's underwear." She apologises "but I've only worn those once before so it's probably fine."

I've never worn someone else's underwear before. Didn't want to start now.

I pull a tampon out of the washbag and hand it back to her. "Isn't Jack a guy's name?"

She scowls at me, waves the washbag at me and retorts "Do I look like a guy to you?" with the kind of attitude that gets me grounded.

Would have gotten me grounded.

She shows me to the toilets and waits while I change. It's so weird wearing other people's clothes, but the leggings are really soft and really nice actually, like fancy leggings instead of just Topshop ones.

My old underwear and tights are totally ruined so I bin them in the toilets. I contemplate binning the skirt too, but Mum will kill me.

Would have killed me.

Oh god, I'm crying again.

She's leaning against the sinks as I come out of the cubical, skirt bunched in my fist. I wash my hands and splash water onto my face. As I'm drying my face on a paper towel, she says "It's spelt J-A-C."


	2. Chapter 2

JAC'S POINT OF VIEW

They left the toilets and headed back to Jac's office. While they were walking, she was thinking about the kid's mother. She should have been easy to revive. But the cancer had affected the heart valves and eventually her organs just shut down. It had to be one of the worst ways to die. Up there with Parkinson's, was lung cancer.

And now there was a motherless 14 year old perioding everywhere. Just what Jac needed on her ward.

She took Poppy back to her office and left her with Mo, who could talk the hind legs off a donkey. Jac figured they'd be ok for a few minutes before Mo had surgery. As she walked back to the nurse's station, Zosia stopped her.

"What, Doctor March?" she asked irritably. She got on her nerves, she was just so earnest all the time.

"Am I calling social services or not, Miss Naylor?"

"Ah. Well…"

Ollie caught wind of the conversation. Of all the people to overhear, it had to be Valentine.

"No no no no no." he said, slapping a folder on the work surface. "She's a child Jac! You can't leave her to fend for herself."

"She's adamant she doesn't want social services involved, and I think she's more than capable of making her own decisions."

"This is exactly what happened with Lou and Eve a couple of years ago, you just don't care do you?" he hissed.

"Doctor Valentine!" Jac shouted. He stopped, glowered at her and walked away. "No, Zosia, leave social services for now."

"Miss Naylor, are you sure that's-"

"Doctor March, this is my patient and my aftercare, and what I say is final, do you understand?"

"Yes, but she's-"

"Doctor March!"

Jac eyeballed her. Zosia stopped talking, spun on her heel, and stalked off. Junior doctors had so much attitude it was unreal.

She grabbed Mrs Jax's file and headed back to the office. Mo passed on the way.

"What you did for her was really lovely of you." She said, grabbing her arm. "What's wrong? Are you feeling ok?" she joked.

"Ha," Jac shrugged off her hand. "Didn't want her staining the couch in the office, that's all."

Mo gave her a look and walked off.

Back in the office, Poppy was sitting on the couch like it was going to eat her. Perched on the edge of it, ready to run.

"Relax" Jac said "I'm not calling social services until we've got some things worked out."

The teenager eyed her suspiciously. Poppy was really very pretty, Jac thought. Thin, but not too thin, average height for a young teenager. Long, straight dark hair, dark eyes, tanned. She looked how Jac used to wish she looked like when she was her age. Jac bet she hated how she looked, anyway.

Poppy sat for a while on her phone, fiddling around with the home button, removing and replacing the case. Generally fidgeting, distracting Jac.

"Ok, Poppy," She said, losing patience "I'm going to need you to tell me a little bit about your family. Where might your dad be? Any aunts, uncles, grandparents?"

As she talked, it became abundantly clear that she had no one. Her dad might as well not have existed, the use he was, and her grandparents were all deceased. No aunts and uncles. It wasn't looking good in terms of social services.

"OK. I get that you don't want to get social services involved, Poppy, but I'm obligated to make sure you are looked after and there doesn't seem to be anyone else."

The anger in her eyes surprised Jac. "NO! What part of no don't you people understand? I'm not going into care!"

"Poppy, there's really no other choice…"

Her eyes darted about the room, she stood in anger, fists clenched at her sides "Can't you look after me? You seem alright."

Could she look after her? A fourteen year old? Was she kidding? Jac stifled a smirk. There was no way she could look after a teenager. Especially a hormonal, volatile, recently bereaved one.

And then it hit her. That's what she used to be. Hormonal, volatile, recently bereaved in a similar way. Jac's mum hadn't died, but when you're abandoned, you mourn the loss in a similar way. She was 12, not 14, but she understood suddenly why people weren't so keen to foster her. And she realised that there was no way she could do the same to this girl.

As Poppy stood glaring at her, Jac excused herself and went to the locker room to make a phone call.

There was no way she could send this girl into care.


	3. Chapter 3

POPPY'S POINT OF VIEW

Jac pushes her chair away from the desk, stands and walks to the door "Excuse me."

I sink back down into the couch. I reach back for my phone and realise my fists have been balled up as if I was going to punch something. I want to punch someone more than anything, and I could tell you precisely who.

Dad.

Where is he when Mum and me need him? In India, that's where. Completely unreachable, not answering his fucking phone, and not replying to messages.  
And now Mum is dead. DEAD.

And where is he? Still not here.

I just begged a doctor to let me live with her. I only met her an hour ago. And that's still better than living with Dad.

The tears are spilling over my cheeks again, and I'm trembling so much that I have to hold on to the arms of the couch to steady myself.

My mum is dead. I just asked the doctor who couldn't save her if I could live with her. And I just got my period on a bench in the hospital and now I'm wearing someone else's underwear.

I'm still shaking so badly that I feel like I'm about to slip off the couch. I can't even explain my rage and hurt in my own head, let alone out loud. I want to scream so badly, but I can't get it out. I open my mouth, and nothing comes out.

Eventually, the trembling stops and I reach for my phone again. The lock screen is full of notifications, but none of them are from the one person I need to hear from. Most of them are from Izzy, asking stupid questions about maths homework and what the plan for Saturday is. Who gives a shit anymore?

As I'm scrolling through, I see a text from Mum. She sent it at 2pm, right in the middle of History. From Mum. From Mum who died less than an hour ago.

That horrible deafening silence crashes into my head and everything goes black.

When I wake, I'm lying on Jac's couch still, but there's someone beside me who isn't Jac.

Zosia? Doctor March? The one from before.

"You fainted, it seems." She says, putting a cool hand on my forehead. "But it's not serious. Something gave you a nasty shock, I think."

My phone. The text from Mum. I struggle into an upright position and unlock the phone, before finding the message.

"I got a text from my mum," I explain "and it shocked me a bit, that's all."

Zosia frowns and reaches out for the phone. She flicks down to the message and reads it aloud "'Don't be home late.' Oh Poppy."

"It's ok." I say. "I had a detention, you know. 10 minutes. I was late. Maybe if I wasn't late, I'd have gotten home in time."

Zosia jumps up from her chair and sits down next to me, pulling me into a hug "No, you mustn't think like that. It's got absolutely nothing to do with whether you were there or not. No amount of time could have saved her, Poppy. It was her time."

The tears start again. I hate the feeling of them sliding down my cheeks more than ever. It just feels sticky now. Crying felt therapeutic before, like starting with a clean slate. Now it feels like I'm making a mess of myself.

As I'm crying onto Zosia's shoulder, the door opens and slams again, and in walks Jac. She clocks me crying, and comes to sit on the chair that Zosia was sitting on before.

"Doctor March, I need a quick word with Poppy, if you don't mind."

"Of course." Zosia slides her arm off of my shoulder, and leaves. Jac turns to me and pulls the chair slightly closer. She's got a file on her lap with my name on.

"Poppy-" She starts and then stops again. She pulls off her glasses, folds them, and tucks them into the V of her shirt.

"Poppy, I've been on the phone to social services, and they are happy for you to come and stay with me temporarily while they get hold of your father and arrange alternative accommodation for you."

I'm going to live with the pushy ginger doctor. I let the news sink in, and wipe the last of my tears from the corner of my eye. But there are more following them. She actually called social and asked, for me.

"Thank you," I whisper. I can't make my voice come out properly. Jac hears though, and touches my knee lightly, before standing and returning to her desk.

"There's a few things you should know, I suppose." She coughs and picks up her phone. "I have a daughter, Emma. She's almost three. She lives part time with me, and part time with her father. She's not with me tonight, but she will be tomorrow."

She reaches her phone out to me, and I walk over to take it. There's a photo on the screen of a small girl with hair slightly darker than Jac's, with big dark eyes and a hint of those amazing cheekbones. She's covered in what looks like chocolate, grinning messily at the camera.

"She looks cute," I say.

"She has her moments." Jac says, and as she gives a small smile, I realise I haven't seen her smile yet.

"Anyway," she continues as I hand her phone back "I live quite close by here, and I understand from your notes that you live on the other side of town. Your school isn't far though, so you should be able to stay on there."

School. Imagine going back now. Izzy and Martha and Kate and Gem and Kieran and Lucas. School feels like a lifetime ago.

"I have a spare bedroom for you, but obviously none of your things are there. So if it's ok with you, and I understand why it might not be, we'll go to your mum's house on the way and pick up some things."

Going back to my mum's house. Not _my_ house. Not _my_ home.

"My house" I whisper.

"Sorry?"

I shake my head "It's my house, it's my home."

Jac stares at me, and then at the paperwork she's working on "I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me."

My fists clench up again. I want to hurt something or someone or punch something just to feel human. But I can't. I'm stuck.


	4. Chapter 4

JAC'S POINT OF VIEW

Why had she said that? Absolute fucking idiot, thought Jac to herself.

Poppy stood there with her fists all balled up and the seemingly endless tears trickling down her face. Jac couldn't stand crying. She didn't know how Poppy could have just carried on and not tried to stop. She supposed her emotions must have just been in complete turmoil. Understandably, actually.

Jac also understood exactly why the idea of going to her house would make her upset. A couple of hours ago, she had arrived at home to find her mother all but dead, and left it again in a hurry. She had lived there with her mother for however many years. It was her home.

But that was Jac, wasn't it? When she was 12. After her mother had left, and social services turned up. They took her back to pick up some belongings, and she was everywhere. Her hippy patchouli perfume. Her photo. The funny little ornaments, and the cacti on the windowsill. She didn't have much to pick up, but that was the worst day of her life up to that point. Even worse than the day her mother actually left.

As she remembered, everything came flooding back. The feeling of being completely alone in the world was the worst one. It's one she had since learned to embrace, and now felt that she owned. But it's not one that she wanted anyone she loved to experience, especially not Emma.

Jac left the office, and got Poppy a cup of water from the dispenser. As she leant against the tank, absorbing the somewhat less tense atmosphere out on the ward, Oliver walked past and paused.

"How's the orphan?"

Jac scowled at him "You can't call her the orphan, Valentine. Have some respect."

Ollie smiled sweetly back "Well, a little bird told me that she might not be an orphan much longer. Apparently the ice queen is fostering a teenager. I have to say, I was pretty gobsmacked when I heard."

"Yes, well. She needed someone. Her mother has been dead for just a few hours, and the grieving process when you lose a parent is intense. She needs some support, and believe me, social services are not going to give her that."

"Speaking from experience, are we Jac?"

Jac scowled at him again, and walked towards the nurse's station. Dealing with this girl had meant that she had completely ignored her theatre list and ward duties, something that she hated doing. Mo was perched on the edge of a chair, watching her.

"Do you mind?" Jac snapped.

Mo flashed her a look of surprise "Who's rattled your cage?"

"No one," Jac bit back "Where's my theatre list?"

"Gone. Zosia, Ollie and I cancelled your electives. You and your new child are free to go, as far as I can tell."

Jac didn't know whether to be more surprised about her cancelled electives, or the fact that everyone seemed to know about Poppy.

"Mo, how do you know about Poppy coming to stay with me?" Jac demanded.

"Ah, well. Your little protégé might have spilled the beans."

Zosia. Jac knew Zosia couldn't keep her mouth shut. It was just something about being an F2; they always had a radar for gossip.

"Look," Jac lowered her voice "Don't go spreading this around, ok? If Hanssen or the board got wind of this, there'd be a lot of questions and I'm not sure I have the answers for them."

Mo shrugged "You know I won't say anything. I would be more concerned about Zosia."

Jac put down the pile of patient notes she had absent-mindedly picked up, and headed off to find the F2. Zosia was leaving the locker room when Jac found her.

"Doctor March, a word please." Jac swept her back into the locker room, and shut the door.

"What can I do for you?" Zosia asked pleasantly.

"Well," Jac snapped "Let's see. You can stop running to Valentine and Effanga with all the gossip you can find."

"I'm sorry?"

"Poppy. You know she's coming to stay with me, which you know makes this a personal matter. You also know that I do my utmost to keep my personal and private lives separate. So, if any of this gets spread any further, or reaches Hanssen or the board, you will be out of Darwin faster than you could run to Daddy and ask for help." Jac reached for the door handle, and swung the door open, all the while maintaining eye contact with Zosia. The girl couldn't be fazed; she stared straight back at Jac.

"Understood?" Jac asked, as she ushered Zosia out.

"Oh yes," Zosia turned round with a smile "Absolutely."

Jac headed back to the office, hoping that Poppy might have calmed herself. The next task was to head to her house before it got dark, and retrieve some of her belongings. Jac was dreading it deeply.

She opened the door to her office and walked in to find Poppy sitting on the couch staring at the scans up on the wall.

"Do you know what all these mean?" she asked.

Jac nodded and walked over to the wall "This one has shadows all along the lung, can you see there? They're growths on the inside of the lung that need to be treated. And this one over here shows a hole in the heart, which we're operating on tomorrow."

Poppy nodded and stood up next to Jac "I love the colours on that scan." She pointed to the stress echo, where splashes of blue and orange filled the black "I just think they're beautiful. It's a shame that it's bad news for someone's health when it's so pretty to look at."

Jac just nodded. She'd never looked at scans as anything other than a way to diagnose a patient. And viewing them as artwork? Unheard of.

She turned to Poppy and asked carefully "Are you ready to go?"

Poppy nodded and picked up her phone and bunched up school skirt from the corner she'd stashed it in. Jac led her out of the office, into the lifts and out of the building. As they approached her slate grey BMW, Poppy held back.

"What?" Jac asked, turning back to look at her.

"It's just...are- are you sure?"

Jac smiled at her, properly. The kind she tended to save for Emma. "Yes I'm sure. Get in."

The drive passed in silence. Not an awkward silence though, thought Jac. A comfortable silence.

They pulled up outside a Victorian semi, with a big bay window, not unlike Jac's own house. Poppy fumbled with the seatbelt and stumbled as she climbed out of the car. Jac reached out a hand to steady her, and together they headed to the front door.

Inside, the house was bright. There was a heap of mail on the table by the door. Jac noted a lot of final demand envelopes, and her heart sank. What a complete pile of shit for a 14 year old to have to sort out.

The hallway led one of two ways. Up the stairs, or into the kitchen. It was a cosy space, full of books on dusty shelves, dirty mugs lying about, last nights' dishes in the sink. The air smelt stale.

Poppy stopped in her tracks as she looked around the kitchen "I just can't believe…"

Jac moved over to the kitchen island and picked up what looked like an iPhone charger "Is this yours, Poppy? We should probably make tracks pretty soon,"

Poppy turned back to her with a blank expression, took the charger, and silently walked up the stairs. Jac pondered whether to follow her, and then figured that some privacy might be the best shout.

After about 20 minutes of waiting, Jac lost patience and headed up to find her. Poppy's room was round the corner. It was big, with a bay window and a double bed. She was sitting on the floor with 2 suitcases beside her, covered in clothes and photos. Crying.

Jac crouched down beside her "Poppy, we really have to go. You'll be back with someone in a few weeks to sort everything out properly, I promise"

She wiped her eyes and did that gross snot-smeary crying thing that Emma did and Jac hated, and began to stuff the clothes and photos into the bags. She emptied out her underwear drawer, picked up a jewellery box and a makeup bag, an alarm clock, a couple of books, a pile of what looked like school work, and some toiletries. As Jac took the suitcases downstairs, she noticed Poppy pause at the doorway to her room and watched in horror as she ripped the carefully painted "Poppy's Place" sign off the door, and stomped on it with venom.

Jac waited at the bottom of the stairs, as Poppy picked up the backpack she had abandoned earlier, and carried the suitcases to the car. She headed back inside, switched off lights and sockets in the kitchen, and picked up a framed photo of Poppy and her mother. Jac knew it wasn't her place to take it, but she had a feeling it would be appreciated later.

As Poppy slammed the front door and double locked it, Jac waited quietly in the drivers' seat of the car. Going in to her house had made it real. Possibly too real.


	5. Chapter 5

POPPY'S POINT OF VIEW

I double lock the door every time I leave that house, and this time feels no different. Except it is, isn't it? This time no one is going back in for a while. This time Mum won't be unlocking it again.

Jac's waiting in her car. It's a grey Beemer and it's lush but the thought of getting back into it makes me feel sick. It's just so unlike our car. Mum's had her Polo for years and years, like, as long as I can remember. Jac's car is very new and very unfamiliar.

I pick up the bag at my feet and head down the path, shut the gate and climb in to the passenger seat.

"It feels so weird," I say "because it feels like this is just a holiday and in a couple of weeks I'll be going home to Mum again."

Jac looks at me. It's a look that says she understands. She doesn't say anything, but the look says everything.

We pull away from the curb and head to the end of the road. I don't look back. I can't bring my head to swivel and watch the bay window fade away. That house is all I have left of Mum and if I watch it go…

The drive takes ages and its dark outside now. The streets all blur into each other in the dark. I could swear the road we eventually end up on is the same one I've lived on all my life. But, of course, it isn't.

Jac pulls onto a gravel driveway, which sits alongside a Victorian semi. Just like my house, but the opposite side. She climbs out and unlocks the front door, carrying in my suitcases. After she locks the car, I slope in after her.

The hallway is painted grey, with a white wooden floor and white furniture and accents. There's art prints and photos in white frames up the walls and up the stairs, and a little painted hook right by the door holds a tiny little raincoat, a small Cath Kidston backpack, and a little striped scarf. Emma's, obviously.

Jac leaves my bags by the door, and heads to the cupboard under the stairs "This is where I keep coats and shoes and things, so feel free to leave yours here too. I'd rather shoes and bags weren't scattered across the hallway."

I nod, slip my manky Vans off and place them carefully next to Jac's pristine brogues and smooth leather boots, and Emma's little Converse.

To the right of the cupboard is a door leading to the lounge. It's stunning – the house has a big extension out the back with skylights, and the room is open plan with a swish white kitchen and a big glass dining table. The sofas are a soft grey colour with red cushions and a patterned throw. There are big, retro red lamps overhanging armchairs, white shutters over the bay window. There's a window seat covered in blankets, an enormous toy box in the corner, a 60 inch TV on the wall. Everything is pristine and matching and just so nice. There are little potted cacti on windowsills, dangling heart decorations on the windows, and drawings and paintings by Emma all over the wall by the table.

"It's so lush in here! I exclaim and Jac grins at me. She's fiddling about in the fridge.

"I'm not much of a cook, I'm afraid, but there's some leftover moussaka if you're keen?"

I walk over to her, running my hand over the kitchen island. The worktops are all white but they have a hint of glitter to them and I can't really get my head around Scary Ginger Woman having glittery worktops.

"What's moussaka?"

Jac looks a bit shocked. I don't know why – it doesn't sound like a food to be fair. Plus I always cooked at home so we always ate frozen pizza.

"It's Greek…" she starts and then shrugs "look – my two year old loves it. That's got to be a good sign right?"

I nod and smile at her, and continue exploring. There's another bit hiding round the edge of the kitchen area, behind where the stairs are, which I guess is attached to the back of the garage, with a big shower room and toilet. The shower is the kind that rains on you from above.

"Oh my God that shower!" I pop my head out from the door and look at Jac. She's laughing.

"Yeah, it's great!" Jac says "I got it installed after…well…after Emma's father and I split for good. He didn't like them, I'd wanted one for ages."

"Well I'm so glad you got it!" I say and dart out of the bathroom, through to the hallway.

"Can I see upstairs?" I call back through. Jac comes out and picks up 2 of my bags.

"Wanna see your room then?"

We head upstairs, and the hallway up there is grey and white too. There's another set of stairs above the ones we just climbed up, and 3 doors coming off of the first floor hallway. Jac drops the bags, and opens the one by the stairs.

"Bathroom." She says, and sweeps a hand round. It's enormous, with a big deep bathtub and another shower. Everything is clean and white apart from a plastic box by the bath full of bath toys, and the white shelves full of toiletries.

The next door along is Emma's room. It's big and painted a pale purple-grey colour, with cloud shaped shelves, white shutters, white furniture and lots of toys and books.

The final door on the first floor is Jac's room. It's massive, with a bay window and yet another window seat. The walls are white, but covered in enormous art prints, the kind with paint splashes everywhere, and big block shapes. The bedding is white waffle textured, with the duvet and pillows all piled in the middle. The dresser is immaculate, with a couple of perfume bottles and a little patterned bowl full of odds and ends sitting either side of the mirror, and there are fitted mirrored white wardrobes all down one wall.

I'm literally gobsmacked. This whole house is stunning.

Jac picks up my bags again and we head up the next set of stairs to the attic conversion. The stairs open out into a mezzanine style space – there's a double bed set into the floor, drawers and cupboards built into the walls, and all the walls are painted the same purple-grey shade as Emma's room. There's a TV on a glass stand in the corner, with a pile of DVD's. The bed is covered in cushions and blankets of all colours and shapes, and the ceilings are sloped down with skylights set into them. I'm speechless.

"Ok, so. Some of the cupboards have stuff in. There's one full of Emma's baby things, and there's one full of Christmas decorations. Apart from that, the space is yours to fill. The bedding is clean – Emma and I use it as a film watching space sometimes, that's all."

I'm not really listening to her. I'm too busy staring through the skylights above the bed to the stars. The night is unbelievably clear. Mum loves nights like this.

Loved.

I smile at Jac, say thanks, and start unzipping my bags as she heads down the stairs. I shove all my clothes into the drawers closest to the bed, and put the books and photos and toiletries I brought on the 3 shelves built into the eaves. Then I just flop back on the bed and look up.

I have no idea how long I lay there but it must be a while. Jac pokes her head through the banisters to say dinner is ready, and it's only then that I notice how wet my cheeks are.


	6. Chapter 6

JAC'S POINT OF VIEW

Jac watched her as she was lying there. She looked like a little elf, sinking into the cushions and blankets, just staring at the stars. She didn't want to interrupt Poppy, but the girl hadn't eaten in hours.

"Poppy?" Jac said tentatively "Dinner's ready."

Poppy rolled over and sat up, looked over at Jac, wiped her eyes, and walked over. She slunk her way down the stairs without saying anything, and Jac couldn't help but stare before following her down.

Jac had left two plates of moussaka and two glasses of water on the island, where the stools were, but Poppy ignored them. She headed straight for the glass doors out to the garden.

"It's small," Jac said, standing next to her as they looked out "but it's quite pretty. I'll show you properly in the morning."

Jac headed over to the stools, sat on one, and tucked in to her dinner. It was gone 9pm and she was ravenous; how and why was Poppy not, she thought. Grief does odd things to people, but the poor kid hadn't eaten anything since before she arrived at the hospital, 6 hours ago.

"Poppy," Jac said after a while, and Poppy finally turned around and tuned in to the situation.

"Sorry" she said quietly, as she slid onto the stool next to Jac.

Jac watched her face intently as Poppy took her first bite. She was expecting a look of disgust, but to her surprise, Poppy smiled.

"I've had this before, I just forgot about it!"

Jac had, by this point cleared her plate, and had also realised that she knew next to nothing about this teenager who had pitched up to live in her house.

"So," Jac cleared her throat "Tell me about yourself."

Poppy wrinkled her brow at her "Like what?"

"Well…when's your birthday? Where were you born? Where have you lived? Where's your favourite place in the world? What's your favourite book or film or song or food?"

"OK. My birthday is the 23rd May. I was born in Brighton because Dad took Mum on a trip there for the day, but I wanted to join in I guess. I've lived in the same house my whole life, but sometimes I stay with Dad. He lives in London." Poppy paused for a mouthful of moussaka and Jac nodded

encouragingly, the same way she did when she needed Emma to eat her broccoli.

"I think my favourite place is this little town in Spain called Salobrena. It's on the coast right at the South, near Malaga. It's in the middle of this flat plain in between mountains but it's on this big rock jutting out of the flat bit. At the top of the rock there's this castle and it's just absolutely stunning. That's my favourite place."

Jac smiled sadly "My favourite place is Venice. I went there with an old boyfriend back when I was doing my undergraduate degree. He took me there as my Christmas present. It was freezing cold, but absolutely beautiful and I still remember it well, 17 years on."

"That sounds cool." Poppy nodded "I'd like to go there, definitely."

"Anyway." Jac took a sip of water "favourite things?"

Poppy crinkled her brow again and Jac realised it was a habit of hers.

"I suppose my favourite book is I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith. And if it's not that, I really just like mystery stories, like missing people or murder mysteries. I got quite into Agatha Christie last year."

"There's a whole shelf of mystery books in the lounge," Jac smiled "I love them too."

"Oh cool! I don't have a favourite film, I just watch chick flicks mostly. Like Mean Girls or Pitch Perfect. Watched them at sleepovers mostly. I definitely have a favourite TV show though."

"What is it?" asked Jac "Please don't tell me is Gossip Girl."

Poppy screwed up her nose "My best friend loves that but I can't stand it. Have you ever seen Friday Night Dinner?"

"That Channel 4 one with the guy from the Inbetweeners?" Jac raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah! Used to watch it all the time."

"Fair enough."

"And my favourite food is pasta. I'll literally eat anything if it has pasta with it. I can't stand pork though. I hate bacon and sausages and all that stuff."

"That's good to know. Emma loves bacon."

"Ugh no. It's such a let-down. It always smells like it's going to be amazing, and then it tastes like crap." Poppy clapped a hand over her mouth "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."

"Its fine" Jac said "when Emma isn't around. She picks up on everything."

"OK," Poppy smiled "I'm really excited to meet her, by the way. She sounds great."

Jac smirked "Oh, she's going to love you. She loves meeting new people. Anyway. Any more favourites?"

"I don't have a favourite song, I just listen to whatever's in the charts. But I quite like the old stuff, like from the 90's."

Jac blanched "That's not old! What year were you born?"

"2002" came the reply.

"Oh god, I'm so old." Jac put her head in her hands "2002!"

Poppy laughed, properly, for the first time since Jac had seen her. She'd finished her food and drink, there was a bit of colour to her cheeks, and her eyes had stopped leaking.

"So, why don't I clear up here, and you go and try out this rain shower?" Jac suggested, and Poppy yawned, surprising herself.

"Ok, thanks Jac."

"No problem."

Jac swept the remnants of the food into the bin, stacked the dishwasher, and wiped the surfaces, before grabbing her MacBook from the table and sinking into her favourite sofa. It was the one opposite the TV, with the window on the left, and the rest of the room on the right, with a view through the doorway to the stairs.

She flicked on the TV, and let E4 blare the American accents of How I Met Your Mother at her, as she opened Google on the laptop.

'What do 14 year olds need to live?' She typed and swiftly deleted. '14 year old supplies'. 'How to look after a teenage girl'. 'What do teenage girls need'? Nothing useful.

Poppy padded through the room with a towel and headed to the shower. She seemed pretty easy-going, thought Jac. Especially for someone whose mother died today.

Speaking of which. Jac pulled open a Word doc and started making a list of the things she needed to sort out for Poppy.

First on the list was inform school of the address change and let them know about her mother. Next was call social services and ask for an update on her father. Then she needed to take Poppy shopping to get stuff that she needs. They needed to go back to her house and pick up the rest of the things she wants before the solicitors start getting involved. They needed to keep in contact with the solicitors about wills and funerals. They needed to change Poppy's phone contract so that Jac was paying. They needed to work out a routine for how they would live – Jac worked odd hours sometimes. And most of all, they needed to bond a bit.

Jac didn't 'do' bonding. Team days at work had never been her thing. She'd struggled to bond with her own daughter when she was born. Bonding had never come naturally to her. But she really wanted to get it right with this girl. She had no one else out there looking out for her properly.

That was a scary thought for Jac. Poppy literally had no one.


	7. Chapter 7

POPPYS POINT OF VIEW

Oh. My. God. Jac's shower is incredible.

I stay in there for ages, rinsing away the tear stains and scrubbing away at the biro marks from school. School feels like a million years ago, even though I know I'll have to go back tomorrow.

When I leave the shower, wrapped in a soft grey towel, Jac's snuggled up on the biggest sofa, with a MacBook perched on her knees.

"So," she says, taking her glasses off "I've just been making a list of all the things we need to get sorted. First things first, school. We're going in tomorrow to explain the situation, but you're not going back properly yet. Tomorrow you can come with me to the hospital, and my shift ends at 3 so afterwards we are going shopping to get things you might have forgotten. Social services are going to call us tomorrow afternoon with an update on your father, and then once he's involved, things might be a bit easier."

There's a hell of a lot to think about, actually. She's right.

"What's going to happen to the house? And who's sorting the funeral? What happens next for Mum?"

"You mean in terms of her body?" Jac asks.

I shoot her a disgusted look "No! I mean for her stuff."

Jac looks awkwardly down at her laptop, and clears her throat before she replies "Once we've gotten hold of your father, he will start working with your mothers' solicitors. He's still next of kin as far as we know, so funeral arrangements will probably be made by him."

I mean, honestly. What use is Dad going to be? He'll be way in over his head, and he'll panic and bail. I don't say any of this to Jac, though. She's only trying to help.

I smile at her in gratitude, and make my way up the stairs. As I walk, I watch her. She tucks her feet up under her, perches her glasses on her nose, and frowns at the computer screen. I can't work her out.

It doesn't take me long to fall asleep, and when I wake up the next morning, to bright sunlight shining through the skylights, I feel guilty. I should have been thinking about Mum, not sleeping.

The bed is so comfy, though. And I think all the crying tired me out.

Just as I'm sitting up, rubbing the sleep dust from my eyes, Jac's head appears between the bannisters.

"Morning." She says, giving me a small smile. "There's cereal and stuff in the kitchen, help yourself. We're going to your school for 8.30, and it's just gone 7, so if you could be by the front door by 10 past 8, that would be great."

"OK, thanks." I yawn, stretch, and roll from my bed to the floor. It's like sleeping on a trampoline.

The clothes I brought with me weren't very well chosen, I realise as I try to get dressed. It's all stuff from my wardrobe, it's the stuff that gets put away properly because I don't wear it very often. I settle for my blue Joni jeans, which I have to roll up at the ankle because they're slightly too long, and an oversized grey turtle neck knitted jumper. I remembered my favourite shoes, thank god. They're black leather crocodile-skin-imprinted skaters, with chunky white soles, and I love them. I brush my hair out, smear on some concealer and mascara, and head downstairs.

I hunt through the kitchen cupboards for a bowl, and locate them in the last cupboard I try. I'm just helping myself to some Crunchy Nut, when Jac explodes out of the shower room and dashes up the stairs, making me jump. The milk in the bowl sloshes all over the floor.

"Oh for FUCKS sake!" I shout, without meaning to. Jac pauses her ascent up the stairs – I hear the floorboards stop creaking – and shouts back "Everything ok?"

"Yep!" I call back, snatching armfuls of kitchen roll and mopping up the spillage. She'll never know.

I'm by the door at the allotted time, with my red backpack (emptied of useless school things, and filled instead with stuff to entertain me at the hospital). Jac dashes down the stairs, dressed in an immaculate white peter-pan collared blouse with black piping down the seams, and a little pussy bow at the neck. It's tucked into high-waisted black trousers that are tight around the hips but loose at the legs, and she's paired them with black court heels and a long grey coat. Her hair is ridiculously straight, and her make up is literally perfect. I'm a bit gobsmacked.

"You look insane!"

She raises one eyebrow at me, and ushers me out the door "Thanks."

The Beemer is even plusher in the cold light of day. It's pristine. The baby seat in the back looks out of place. Jac fiddles with the buttons and plugs her phone in to charge, before we drive off in the direction of school.

The closer we get, the more the hard, horrible, nervous knot in my stomach tightens. School feels completely alien from everything I've experienced in the past 24 hours and I just can't shake the fear at going back into the building. I do though, I walk through the doors behind Jac, and hide subtly behind her coat every time someone I know walks past us.

"We're here for a meeting with Mr Plummer." Jac says smoothly to the receptionist. Mr Plummer appears a few minutes later, shaking Jac's hand, walking us through to his office. He's the deputy head and everyone hates him. He started when I was in year 8 and there was a rumour for ages that he was going to make us all wear bright pink blazers.

Jac literally owns the whole conversation. She perches on the chair, slips her coat off and places her bag on the floor with a sort of elegance. I didn't think anyone could walk into a meeting 'elegantly', but never mind. Mr Plummer makes all the right sympathetic noises about how the whole school would be there to support me when I decided to return, but I just can't listen properly. The last time I was in this office was when me, Izzy, Yolanda, Marnie, and Jess set off the fire alarms last year. Mum came in to speak to him about it – back when she was still able to drive places – and he gave me such a bollocking. But when we left, we had to stop further down the corridor because we were laughing so hard.

This time, though, Jac's explaining that I'm temporarily living with her, and that the address on my file will need to be changed. Mr Plummer jots down lots of details, takes her phone number, and shakes her hand.

"Good to meet you, Ms Naylor. And my deepest sympathies, Poppy." He smiles at me sadly, and I can't stand it.

After we leave, I have to stand outside the doors by myself to calm down as Jac signs us out. How dare he look at me like that? Like I'm some kind of pitiable abused kitten, or something.

I'm trembling as Jac walks outside to me.

"What's going on?" She asks, touching my shoulder lightly.

"Nothing." I snap, through gritted teeth. "I just hate the way he looked at me. Like I was a charity case."

Jac nods as we climb into the car "I know what you mean."

I scrutinize her. How the hell would she know what I mean?


	8. Chapter 8

-Thank you so much for the reviews! They made my day, so I decided to write another chapter, and I threw in some Jacha for good measure Please keep the reviews coming! Onetinynaylor x-

JACS POINT OF VIEW

She was late, and she knew it. She would have to sneak in and hope that Hanssen wasn't around. The smarmy teacher had taken far too much time asking questions and poking around. And he had upset Poppy.

Jac and Poppy walked through Darwin ward to her office. As they walked, Jac noticed a pile of paperwork dumped on the nurses station, several abandoned coffee cups, and a distinct lack of her team. Why was it that she could rely on no one else to run this place properly? Why did it always have to be her?

She burst in through the office door and demanded "Mo, where the hell is everyone?" before she stopped in her tracks. Mo was standing with a balloon that said 'Welcome!' on it. The floor of the office was covered in smaller, multi-coloured balloons. Valentine and Zosia were wearing party hats and threw streamers at Poppy and Jac as they walked further into the room.

"Welcome to Darwin, Poppy!" Mo exclaimed, reaching over to give her a hug. "And congrats, foster mum."

Jac gave them a tight lipped grimace, kicked several balloons out of her way, and sat down at her desk. "Get back to the ward, please. It's looking very unattended at the moment."

Zosia's face fell, as she stepped out of the room, pulling off her party hat and dropping it on the floor. Ollie followed suit, glaring at Jac as he left.

Honestly though, what did they expect? Wards can't be left unattended. Especially not cardiothoracic ones.

"Well." Mo said "That was a tad curt."

Jac rolled her eyes, and spun her chair round to face her "There's a ward full of sick people out there, with no doctors. If there was a genuine reason to not be out there, then so be it. But no. My team were playing with balloons instead."

Mo stood up, huffing under her breath, and walked out.

"Poppy." Jac said, without looking away from her computer "Why don't you go to the staff lounge? There's snacks and drinks and magazines and stuff."

Poppy looked at Jac warily. Jac realised she'd never seen her in work mode before.

"It's back down towards the lift." She said, kindly this time.

Poppy nodded and headed out the door. Jac felt a sort of quiet relief. She liked Poppy, but having someone around you 24/7 was tiring. Especially when they were an age when they should be fighting for their independence, not following an adult round like a puppy.

Jac spent her morning operating on some old biddy's furred up arteries, and then headed down to Pulses for a coffee. She was exhausted and she couldn't work out why. Caffeine was not optional, she decided. Extra shots might have to happen.

She was just about to fire "Usual, extra shot" at the barista, when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She spun around, only to find herself buried in Sacha's armpit.

"Hey! Congratulations, mum!" Jac could feel Sacha grinning even if she couldn't see it. He pulled away and leaned over to the barista to order.

"This one's on me," he winked.

Jac mustered up a smile for him. She did love Sacha, even if he was a lumbering hulk with an irritating tendency to see the bright side in everything. It was just that she couldn't shake this feeling that she didn't want to be another mum. She was already mummy to Emma, and that was more than enough for her.

Sacha carried their drinks over to a table and sat down opposite Jac "So, how's it going?"

Jac cupped both her hands round the warm cup, and stared down at it "It's alright."

"Alright?" Sacha looked at her, and Jac couldn't help but look back.

"I don't know, it's just when I agreed to the whole thing yesterday, I felt like there was nothing else I could do. I didn't want to be the one to send her into care; I've been there and done that and I never want to be responsible for doing that to someone else."

Jac paused for a sip of her coffee before continuing quietly "I just can't help thinking that I could have just passed her onto someone else and then if she ended up in care it wouldn't have been my fault."

"Well," Sacha said, diplomatically "it would have. You'd have been the one that sent her there in the first place. The buck was always going to rest with you. I don't understand, though. What's wrong with her?"

Jac raised her voice in frustration "Nothing! Not a thing! That's just it! I can't work out why I feel so bad about all of this!"

Jac could feel Sacha's gaze on her. She could feel her cheeks reddening.

"Come on, Jac." He said, seriously. "What doesn't feel right?"

Jac couldn't look at him "Every time someone says 'mum' to me, I want to run," she said through gritted teeth "I'm already a mummy. One is more than enough for me."

"Jac." Sacha said. Jac carried on staring at her hands.

"Jac! Look at me,"

She looked at him.

"You're never going to be her mum. Ever." Sacha chuckled "I mean, she only lost her mum yesterday! She's 14, she's never going to see anyone else as her mum, is she?"

The relief washed over Jac like a waterfall. Of course she wasn't Poppy's mum. She was Emma's. Poppy's mum might be dead, but that didn't mean Poppy wanted a replacement.

Jac watched Sacha's face. He looked happy, like he knew what he was talking about, like it made sense.

"Thank you," Jac said, giving him a quick smile.

Sacha beamed back in return, and stood up "I'd best be heading back. We've got a VIP patient and Dom's gone all fangirl on him."

Jac watched him stride away to the lifts, and took another sip of coffee.

It was then that she realised he'd forgotten the extra shot.


	9. Chapter 9

POPPY'S POINT OF VIEW

When we eventually leave the hospital, it's gone 5 so the shopping trip can't happen. To be honest, I'm relieved. I don't want new stuff. I want all my old stuff, which smells like home and reminds me of Mum.

Jac's been in a really weird mood all day. She was really rude to Doctor March and Mo and Ollie and they'd decorated the office with balloons and everything, and then she just sent me off to the staffroom.

It wasn't bad in the staffroom, actually. I made friends with a load of the nurses, and there were biscuits. It's just across the hall from the relatives' room, though, which made me feel a bit weird. Like, I'm ok with going to the hospital up to a point. I don't want to go near the room that I was in when I found out my mum died, though. There is a line.

Anyway, I managed to call Izzy and tell her everything. She was so nice and lovely and she put her mum on the phone to talk to me and they offered to have me to stay whenever and stuff, but it just made me cry. I'm going to hers tomorrow when school finishes, but I might cancel. It depends if I feel like I might bawl my eyes out or not.

We climb into Jac's car and head back to her house. When we pull up in the driveway, there's a man and a little girl waiting for us.

"Mummy!" the little girl shouts. Emma, obviously.

"Hey Em!" Jac reaches down and lifts her high into the air, and then cuddles her close "I missed you!"

Emma wriggles in her arms, and Jac sets her down again.

The man hands Jac a bag, and says in a Scottish accent "I'll be off then."

Jac looks at him "You can come in for a drink, if you'd like?"

"No it's ok. I have a date tonight, believe it or not. And who's this?" he looks at me with a smile.

Jac reaches over and pulls me towards them by the arm "Sorry, I forgot to introduce you – Poppy, this is Jonny, Emma's dad. Jonny, Poppy's staying with me for a bit. I'm her foster carer."

"Her what?" he splutters. Jac shoots him a look of fury and he clears his throat and smiles over at me, like I haven't noticed "So how old are you Poppy?"

"14" I say.

He nods like it was a question he really cared about the answer to, and then leans down to Emma to give her a hug goodbye. He walks down the drive as Jac unlocks the door.

Emma bounces about like a mad thing, spreading paintings and shoes and glitter everywhere. It feels really weird seeing Jac's pristine hallway covered in kid stuff. No doubt it'll disappear as soon as Emma's in bed.

It's weird seeing Jac with Emma too, taking off her shoes and coat, putting them in the cupboard, asking her what she did with her daddy, laughing as Emma skids about on the floor in her socks. She's like a different person from the Jac I saw in hospital today.

I feel a bit out of place.

Plus I don't know where I stand. Can I just go and sit on the sofa? Should I just go to my room? I take one more look at Jac and Emma as they walk hand in hand into the kitchen, and decide to go and hide for a bit.

I'm on my laptop, looking at the work my teachers emailed me for today and trying to work out if I'll be in trouble for not doing it, when I hear some small feet stomping their way up my stairs. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Emma is standing at the top of the stairs. She looks at me timidly at first, but when I smile at her, she puffs out her chest like she has something important to say.

And then she crumbles, and runs back downstairs without saying anything.

I follow her down. Jac must have sent her up to tell me something.

Emma's fast for someone so small, and when I get down to the kitchen, she scuttles across the room and buries her head in the window seat cushions.

Jac smirks at her "Sorry. I sent her up to tell you dinner's ready. She didn't manage, did she?"

"No, but its ok, I figured you sent her up." I sit down at one of the stools next to the island and watch as Jac serves curry and rice into 3 bowls. Two white, square shaped ones, and one small pink plastic one.

"Emma!" she calls, as she sets them on the big table. Emma rushes across to her chair, little legs flying in bright striped leggings. She climbs up onto a seat and Jac fastens a plastic bib round her neck, but Emma barely notices. She's too busy stuffing bits of rice and butternut squash into her mouth with her fingers. Jac scolds her gently, and places a spoon in her hand, before bringing the remaining food to the table.

I sit opposite Jac, and next to Emma, who sits at the head of the table. She's the messiest eater ever. It actually makes me wince to see the curry sauce on the pristine glass table top.

For someone who claims they can't cook, Jac isn't bad. The curry is spicy and warming and I feel better after eating it than I have all day. When we finish, I have that full-up feeling that you get after a good meal. It reminds me of Sundays, when we used to have a massive roast dinner and then me, Mum and Dad would curl up in front of a film and just lie there sleepily for the rest of the day.

I've finished, but Jac's barely touched hers, and I can see why. Every time she tries to take a mouthful, Emma manages to smear curry down herself, or flick it at Jac, or crumble rice onto the floor.

Jac gives up in the end. She wrestles Emma from the table, both laughing hysterically at something, and carries her upstairs, leaving all the mess just sitting there. I hear the bath taps sloshing water about, listen to Emma running about, no doubt spreading curry over Jac's white duvet. And I look at the mess, and hate it.

It doesn't take me long to clear up. I cling film Jac's dinner, and leave it on the side for her to reheat later. I stack the dishwasher, wipe all the surfaces, and sweep up the rice from the floor. And then I finally feel at ease in the kitchen. It reminds me of cleaning up at home, although there's usually less mess.

I can tell from the noise upstairs that Emma's in the bath, and I realise that now is the time I have to sit on the sofa and feel at home a bit. I make myself a cup of tea, in the biggest mug I can find, and stir in 3 sugars. Mum used to tell me off for that. She said the dentist wouldn't be impressed. But it never made a difference anyway; we stopped going when she got sick.

As I'm thinking about it, the tears have started rolling down my face again. It's only really been 24 hours since Mum died, and I'm already sick of crying. But it hasn't even started yet, has it, really? What about tomorrow at Izzy's? When I have to go home to sort everything out? When I finally see dad again? What about the funeral? And birthdays and Christmases' and all those times I won't get to spend with her?

I dump my tea on the coffee table, and drag the blanket that's spread over the top of the sofa around me. And as I'm lying there, crying into the cushions, sleep washes over me, taking me under, helping me sink down into darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

-Thank you all so much for the reviews! You made me really happy, and also reminded me to keep writing, as uni has gotten pretty hectic and I forgot. Keep 'em coming and I hope you're still enjoying! The story is heading for a particular direction, although it may not seem like it, and it will pick up the pace soon! Onetinynaylor x-

JAC'S POINT OF VIEW

Jac stepped gently down each step, missing the 2nd from the top, 6th from the bottom, and 3rd from the bottom because they creaked. She made her way quietly into the kitchen to eat and clean up, but didn't get that far. Her dinner was magically on the worktop, covered in cling film. All traces of Emma's korma had been removed from the floor, chair and table. Everything was spotless.

Jac spun around to see if Poppy was still in the room, and couldn't see her. She must have slunk off upstairs after cleaning up.

That was good of her, Jac thought as her bowl spun round in the microwave. She didn't have to do that, it wasn't her house to clean.

Jac took the bowl, wrapped in a tea towel, to the sofas, and sank down onto one. But there was someone already there. Jac leapt out of her skin, and stared down at sleeping Poppy, half covered in a blanket, dark hair fanned out across the cushion. She had deep grey circles under her eyes, and her forehead was creased even in sleep.

Jac didn't know what do to. She probably could have carried Poppy upstairs (she really was rather small for a teenager) but she didn't feel comfortable doing that. If she was her own child, she would have no hesitation, but the girl had only moved in yesterday.

As she ate the remains of her food, she decided to leave Poppy there. What harm would a night on the sofa do anyway?

The next morning, Jac came downstairs for a coffee. Emma wasn't awake yet; Jac cherished the quiet moments she had. They reminded her of how long she lived alone for, and how she had no one to please but herself, and how satisfied that made her.

Jac stood at the sliding doors, staring out into the garden. The early morning autumn sunshine was filtered through orange layers of leaves from the tree, and they danced across the patio in swirls. It was definitely Jac's favourite time of year.

She turned around to make her way up to wake Emma, and noticed that the sofa was empty. Poppy must have woken in the night and gone upstairs. Jac immediately felt a pang of guilt for leaving her in the big, cold kitchen – she would never have done that to Emma.

In the noise and the mess of giving Emma breakfast, and piling into the car, and dropping her off at crèche, Jac didn't notice how quiet Poppy was being. And after she sent Poppy off to the staffroom, she was booked up in theatre all day.

Her head was full of aortic aneurysms and cardiomyopathy, and she was in the zone. Days like these where none of her doctors were AWOL, none of the patients were collapsing randomly, and there was time and space to do things carefully, were Jac's favourites.

It was gone 4 by the time she went to check on Poppy. She strolled through the door to the staffroom.

"How's your day going? Mine is the most productive I've had in weeks!" Jac said cheerfully, and then stopped. The smile dropped from her face.

Two tea-drinking magazine-reading nurses stared at her in confusion. And Poppy was nowhere to be seen.

Jac turned and ran back to the office, shouting to anyone she passed if they'd seen Poppy. She scrambled about in her bag for her phone, before realising with horror that she didn't have her number. She sank down onto her chair and ran her hands through her hair.

Where the hell could a 14 year old be? She's probably just in Pulses or out on the benches or something. She didn't have a key, Jac thought, so she couldn't go home.

Home.

Unless she's gone to her own home.

Jac was up and out of her seat clutching her car keys quicker than she ever had been before. She couldn't believe Poppy would just walk off without saying anything. How stupid does someone have to be? Jac thought angrily. Surely she could have used a shred of common sense and told Jac what was going on?

As Jac's BMW sped out of the car park and through the streets of Holby, Jac tried in vain to remember where Poppy's house was. Holby, Jac thought irritably, was one of those stupid towns where it's just slightly too big to really know your way around properly. Plus Jac never had time to explore anyway.

After hitting a traffic jam through the main road across town, Jac lost patience. She swung the car round, almost colliding with a Skoda (ridiculous car, Jac seethed, the sort for old people who don't understand the meaning of a speed limit), and headed to her own house. She knew Poppy's file would be in her drawer, where she'd specifically put it just two days ago, and she knew her address would be in it somewhere.

As she twisted the key in the lock, her throat went tight. Jac stopped what she was doing and rubbed her neck gently. Stress always made her feel wheezy, it was a weakness that she didn't have the time or the patience for. But this time something caught in her throat, and tears sprung to the corners of her eyes. The panic she felt in her stomach was unreal. Those butterflies, not the good kind, not the nervous kind you get before a presentation, but the awful, terrified kind.

Jac shook her head, swiped the tears from her cheeks, twisted the key and shoved the door open with her shoulder.

As she headed into the kitchen, she paused in the doorway and yelled "Poppy!" up the stairs as loud as she could. When there was no reply after five seconds, Jac continued through the kitchen, and let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

The drawer was right there. Above the drawer with the pointless cooking stuff that she always forgot to use, like the spiralizer. And the garlic crusher. It was a white drawer just like all the others, except this one was filled with important stuff. Gas bills, Emma's birth certificate, car insurance details. And Poppy's file.

Jac yanked open the drawer, and searched fleetingly with her eyes for the brown A4 envelope with the white sticker on the corner.

And then she looked closer, rifled through the rest of the paper in the drawer.

Nothing. Poppy's file had gone.


	11. Chapter 11

POPPY'S POINT OF VIEW

I'm walking back through town to the hospital when my phone vibrates in my back pocket. It's from Iz, saying she loves me and it was so good to see me.

She's lying through her teeth, but I let it sooth me anyway. I headed round at 3 so that I'd be there when she got back from school, and the first thing she did was burst into tears. She was properly howling. Howling like she was the one who lost her mum.

When she'd finally calmed down, she told me all about what's happened in school the past few days. It feels like it's been forever since I went to school. It feels like a completely different life. When I said that to Izzy, she just snorted and was like "Well it's only been 2 days, Pops," and so obviously she doesn't get it.

And then I showed her my file that I found in Jac's kitchen last night, and told her about Jac and she thought it was weird I was living with someone I only just met. And then she did that loud shouty across the room talking to her mum and asked her if I could move in with them. And then her mum did that lovely mum thing where she very kindly and politely said that wouldn't be possible. And then I started crying and had to hide in the bathroom for 10 minutes.

So all in all, a success really.

I'm so glad I got to leave that stuffy hospital though. If Jac doesn't let me go back to school soon, I'm going to go insane.

I'm just past the Esso garage, which means I take the next left, cut down through Blenheim Drive, and then cross over at the roundabout to get to the hospital. As I'm trudging round the corner, a car screeches to a halt next to me, and the window winds down. I turn to look, and come face to face with the scary ginger doctor.

"Get. IN!" Jac hisses from the driver's seat.

I mean, for God's sake. What's wrong with me going out?

I slide into the car and shut the door with a thud. Jac pulls away and drives the two minutes down to the hospital in complete silence. When we pull up in a space, she stays in her seat, turns to me, and fixes me with an icy glare.

"What the hell are you playing at?" she asks calmly.

"I went to my best friend's house," I say.

"What?" Jac looks appalled, like I've pushed a puppy under a bus or something. "When did I give you permission to do that?"

I look at her in disbelief "Since when do I need your permission to go and see my friends?"

"Er, hello, since you moved into my attic and I became your legal guardian!" Jac tosses her hair over her shoulder, and eyes me again. "And since I don't know who your friends are, or where they live, I would have thought you'd have had the decency to consult me."

I'm losing patience now. I'm 14, not 4. "Um, again, since when do I need your permission? I've been going to my friends' houses by myself since I was 10 and I'm not about to stop just because some woman who I've only just met tells me to!"

Jac looks furious but bites her lip. There's an awkward angry pause where she tries to think of a reply.

Eventually she says in short, irritated voice "From now on, you ask me if you can go."

I roll my eyes, and reach for the door handle. Jac reaches out and grabs my arm. "I'm serious, Poppy. I thought you were in the staff room. So imagine my shock when you weren't there, and when no one had seen you for over an hour. And then, imagine me running out of my ward and neglecting my responsibilities, just to come and find you. It's selfish."

I shake her hand off my arm and shout back "I didn't need you to come and find me, I'm old enough to look after myself! All I did was go and see my best friend, because in case you forgot, my mum died 2 days ago, and I wanted to speak to someone who I've known longer than 48 hours!"

I shove the door open, stumble out, and slam it shut, before stalking across the gravel to the hospital doors.

Jac's hot on my heels, even though she's wearing actual heels, and catches me up as I cross the ambulance bay.

"Stop. No way is this continuing inside, do you understand me? If you have something else to say, get it over with out here."

I stalk over to the benches and plonk myself down on one. Jac stands opposite me, watching me.

"What?" I snap at her.

She sits down next to me. "Look. Throw all the abuse at me you want, I don't care. I'm only doing what you asked me to do. You were the one who asked to move in with me, and if you don't like it, I can get you out of my house as soon as possible, because, quite frankly, I don't need all this right now. I've got a research proposal to submit, a career-defining case on the books, and a 2 year old to look after at home."

She's literally on my last nerve. How dare she threaten to kick me out? I've literally done nothing wrong, why am I getting all the agro?

"You know what? I don't need this either. My dad's coming home soon, and he'll come and get me as soon as he knows about this. So there's no point bothering in kicking me out, because all that will happen is I'll be gone in a week. Oh, and -" I reach into my bag, and pull out my file.

"- have this back." I throw it at her. As I turn and walk into the hospital, I catch a glimpse of sheets of white paper settling around Jac, like overgrown snowflakes.


	12. Chapter 12

JAC'S POINT OF VIEW

4 days after their very public (too public, thought Jac privately) disagreement in the hospital garden, Poppy returned to school. And Jac was shit scared.

She'd dropped her off on her way into the hospital. Poppy had argued for almost an hour about her ability to walk herself to school, but something about it made Jac uncomfortable. She just wanted to know Poppy would be alright. But she couldn't say that to her; Poppy became agitated when she thought Jac was trying to mother her, she had noticed.

And she hated to admit it, but she actually enjoyed having her on Darwin. Whenever Jac felt unfocused or stressed, she headed across to the staff room and pretended to get a coffee (although she never actually drank the stuff – if it wasn't made in a coffee shop, by a barista, it was basically just hot water, in her opinion) and just had a quick chat, and no matter whether a lot was said or nothing at all, she felt better afterwards.

Plus, Jac thought to herself as she made her way into the hospital, having left Poppy at the school gate and taken Emma to the childminder (the bloody crèche never has spaces when you need them, Jac thought crossly), Poppy was great with Emma. Really great. She read stories, entertained, wiped up spillages, made her giggle. Jac never had to do anything, and really, there's no better time to be a parent than when someone else is looking after your child.

More than that, though, Jac felt scared for Poppy. She knew how it felt to go to school as the freak child. She knew what it was like to return to the same people and the same friends as a completely different person. And she remembered the hurt she had felt at the time as a physical pain now, a sort of dull ache in the centre of the chest.

Jac dumped her bag on her desk, and called the passing doctor into her office. It turned out to be Zosia.

"Ah, Doctor March. I could do with a coffee."

"Right." Zosia blinked at her "And I suppose you want me to get it for you?"

Jac fixed her with a stare "That was my intention, yes." She handed Zosia a fiver "Remember, anything but soya milk. I can't stand the stuff. Oh, and the change is yours."

Zosia turned to leave and rolled her eyes, before slamming the door on the way out. Jac was starting to become concerned for her. This sort of attitude wasn't normal for junior doctors. They were supposed to be terrified of consultants, not slamming doors and stomping about like a tantrumming teenager.

When Zosia returned five minutes later, dumping a pile of small change on the edge of the desk, and dropping the cup onto the glass with such vigour that the lid popped off, Jac eyed her closely. She was flushed, agitated, and out of character.

"Is everything ok Zosia?"

Zosia turned to look at her like a rabbit caught in the headlights "Yes! Er- yeah, I'm…I'm all good thank you."

Jac restrained herself from retorting back at the junior that she was most definitely not ok. Pick your battles, Naylor, she thought to herself. She's probably fine.

Jac gave her a small smile and a nod, and Zosia saw herself out. The door was shut in a noticeably calmer manner.

Jac's day was the sort of day you don't want. It was a logistical nightmare. A 7 car pile-up on the M4 had brought 21 people to the hospital, and 4 suffered serious cardiac complications. One was lost on the operating table. One became hypertensive and had to be resuscitated. One tried to do a runner. And one couldn't remember their own name. So in between emergency surgeries, tracking down her registrars, who had been deployed to AAU to help cope with the situation, and dealing with the rest of the ward, Jac was run off her feet. It was days like today that she questioned her commitment to cardiothoracics. Or even her medical career at all.

Jac found herself longing to see Poppy. Just to walk into the staffroom and see her, earphones in, tapping away at her laptop, or sketching something with her hair tucked behind one ear, biting her lip in concentration. Jac had begun to notice the little things that made her tick, and felt more comfortable around Poppy than she had done another human in a very long time. And she couldn't explain it. In the 6 days they had known each other, there had been multiple arguments, a lot of shouting, 3 cold-shoulder incidents that Jac had had to put a swift end to, a folder thrown at her in her own workplace, a chair tipped over in her own home, a lot of door slamming, and more tears than Jac had ever seen before. But this angry girl had reminded Jac exactly of herself, and Jac found herself treating Poppy in the way she wished she had been treated. Putting up with the tantrums, because her mother had only just died, her father was AWOL, and she had no one else to shout at. Jac knew that the shouting didn't necessarily mean that Poppy was angry at her, and she was ok with that. She could relate to it.

Jac mulled her feelings over as she queued for some much-needed lunch at Pulses. It was funny how aortic transections made her so hungry. She selected a chicken salad sandwich and a granola bar, before heading to the lift. Jac watched the doors open to the stuffy little box and couldn't bear the idea of standing in it. She headed for the stairs, relishing the walk to clear her head. Sometimes even Jac Naylor needed a quick break.

Halfway between Keller and the maternity floor, Jac came across a figure slumped in the corner, shoulders shaking. Whoever they were, they had long dark hair and what looked like a blazer on. Jac dropped her lunch and ran. She scooped the girl into her arms, and held her as she sobbed. Her whole body was convulsing, and it was the most heart-breaking show of emotion Jac had ever seen. She gently pulled the girl to a more upright position, pulled back from her, and swept the hair from her face.

Poppy.


	13. Chapter 13

-Part of this chapter is based on Jac and Zosia's taxi scene from a few weeks ago – I just loved the dialogue and I felt like it fitted in here. So no – that scene is not mine! Onetinynaylor x-

POPPY'S POINT OF VIEW

I know it's Jac as soon as she's holding me, and I'm glad. I can smell her perfume, feel her bony shoulder under my chin.

Jac sweeps my hair from my face, and that's when she realises it's me. I can see it in her face. There are no tears left to cry anymore, so there's nothing blocking my vision. My whole body is crying now, not just my face.

Jac picks me up off the floor and walks me up to Darwin. I don't notice who we pass, or what's going on. I get this feeling that it's busy though. There are people running everywhere, but I feel like I'm in slow motion.

I sit on her sofa. She sits next to me.

"Poppy, are you ok?"

I look at my shoes. I don't think I can tell her.  
"I'm fine."

There's a pause. I think it's long, but I can't tell.

"Are you ok?" she asks again. Why does she keep asking? Can't she see I don't want to talk?

"I told you, I'm fine." I look at the wall now. More of those beautiful scans, the ones I remember from my first day here.

"Look at me." Jac says gently.

I can't.

"Look at me!" she says, with more force, and I can't help myself. I look.

She's tired, I can see that. But her eyes are open wide, fixed on me. They're green. I never noticed that before. My mum said I had green eyes until I was 5. I look into Jac's, and they're so full of concern. I can't stop myself anymore.

"No. No, I'm not, I'm really not." I sink into her again as she reaches out an arm and pulls me close. She smells like her perfume, but also a more earthy scent underneath, and of the bleached cotton of her scrubs. I breathe in deeply, and let myself cry some more.

"It's ok, everything is going to be ok. I promise." She says.

I let myself believe her as I lean into her. For some reason, she makes me feel safer than I have for a long time. I think it's because someone is looking after me now, not the other way round.

After a while I sit up again. She rearranges the cushions behind her.

"Are you going to tell me what you're doing here?" she asks.

I reach into my bag for my phone. It's solid and cool and smooth and it feels good in my hand.

"It's completely different. I just wanted to feel normal again. But everyone is treating me like a stranger. People keep coming up to me to apologise, like it's their fault Mum died. My friends, friends who I've known since I was four, don't know what to say to me. I hate it."

Jac leans a hand across and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear "I know how you feel."

I hate it when she says that. She says it a lot, actually, but she can't possibly know how I feel, and I need her to stop. It's not making me feel any better.

"No you don't." I say quietly.

She heard.

"Yes. Yes, I do." She sighs, and starts talking in a quiet, monotone voice that I haven't heard her use before.

"When I was 12, my mum left me. She moved to India, left me here. I had no dad, and my grandad was dead. Well, I thought he was. But anyway. I was taken into care. I lived with a lot of families, but I couldn't settle. I moved from place to place, children's home to children's home. But when it first happened, I moved in with a family who were good to me. They treated me well, and they let me go to the school I was already at. But when I went back, it was like I was a new person. My friends didn't talk to me. Suddenly I was the foster-care freak. I wasn't Jac anymore, and I hated it. So I caused trouble with the nice family so that they would have me moved. I left my school, and that was that. But I still remember the way my friend Renee watched me as I walked over to her. Like I was a stranger, a dangerous one."

As she's talking, I start crying again. Softly, this time. Silently. Jac is me. She's just like me.

"It's not just that." I say, as she places a hand on my shoulder "It's my dad. He called me."

Jac, who looks like she's tearing up herself, blinks away the wetness around her eyes, and sits up straighter. Her hand falls from my shoulder, slack.

"And?"

"He's coming back. 1 week, tops. He's going to sort everything out." I rip at a corner of my phone case as I'm talking, in rhythm with the words "He said he's going to make everything ok again."

Jac watches me closely "That's a good thing though, right?"

I thought so too, at the time. But now I'm here with Jac, I can't tell anymore. I don't want him to come back, because when he comes back, this all becomes more real. Stuff has to happen. Funerals, house stuff, moving away.

"You don't want it to happen?"

I shrug. I can feel Jac's gaze on me, even though I'm not looking at her.

"It's because it makes everything real, isn't it?"

"The sooner he comes back, the sooner I have to say goodbye properly."

"I know," Jac pulls me to her again, and I rest my head against her chest "I know."


	14. Chapter 14

JAC'S POINT OF VIEW

How could she tell her how upset she would feel if Poppy were to leave? Jac knew it would be selfish. But she wanted to see Poppy get through this.

And the thing was, it felt like it could be a victory for the twelve year old who was abandoned, years ago, who didn't get to see a happier ending until it was far too late to salvage her childhood.

Jac's practical head made her well aware of how ridiculous she was being; Poppy wasn't her daughter, she had only been in Jac's life for a week, and just because she would be living elsewhere didn't necessarily mean that she would never see Jac again. But Jac was all too aware that once Poppy wasn't living in her house, hoovering up all the fruit in the fridge, slamming the doors, leaving wet towels all over the bathroom floor, sitting on the window-seat on her laptop with the sun in her hair, or playing terrible, awful music at unnecessary volumes, she would feel desolate.

Goddamn emotions.

Jac stayed with her until Poppy sat up and looked her in the face.

"I need to go back, don't I? I need to deal with this."

Jac looked at her. She had this fierce little look on her face, tear tracks still trailing down her cheeks. To Jac it was like looking in a mirror.

"Yeah. You do." Jac stood up and held out a hand to Poppy to help her up too. She couldn't leave the ward mid-shift, but saw Poppy to the taxi and handed over the money to the driver.

"I don't want to see you back here until 3.30, got it?"

Poppy nodded and flashed her a smile, before the cab pulled away. Jac watched it turn the corner round Wyvern Wing, and went inside.

As she headed back up to Darwin, Jac started to think tactics. She didn't want to lose Poppy when her dad came back to sweep her off her feet. He sounded like a bigot and a moron, who, in Jac's view, turned up as and when he pleased to be a parent, but left Poppy with her mother when she didn't fit in with his plans. Jac knew from experience exactly what that felt like. And she didn't want Poppy to get hurt.

So Jac decided, as she stepped out of the lift, that her weekend would be devoted to Poppy. Emma was with Jonny for a few days, which meant that they could literally go anywhere, and they wouldn't have to worry about getting home for bedtime and feeding a hungry but fussy toddler.

As she was contemplating a day in London versus a day exploring the little beaches of North Devon, someone rushed past her down the corridor, knocking into her elbow, scattering paperwork all over the floor and coffee everywhere.

Jac turned around and surveyed the mess, and saw a coffee-soaked Zosia standing in the middle of it. She had a stack of cardboard folders in her hand, and a now-empty Pulses cup. As they made eye contact, Zosia's face crumpled up and she burst into tears.

Why was everyone crying today? Jac thought in exasperation, as she bent down to gather the scattered papers. First Poppy, now Zosia. Valentine better not be next.

"Dr March, my office please,"

Zosia followed Jac into her office, dropping the folders onto the couch and throwing the cup into the bin. Jac sat down at her desk and folded her arms, scrutinizing Zosia.

"What's going on, Zosia?"

Zosia stood there, arms crossed behind her back, shuffling her feet and looking at the ceiling.

"Zosia," Jac repeated, and Zosia suddenly flicked her gaze down to her, like she had only just become aware of who she was talking to.

"Nothing, I'm fine."

Jac sighed and took off her glasses "Zosia, you're clearly not."

Zosia shifted on her feet again, this time staring out the window "Honestly Ms Naylor, I'm fine."

"I don't think you are." Jac narrowed her eyes "This morning you were agitated and jumpy, this afternoon you dropped a few bits of paper and started crying in the middle of the ward. I won't ask you again; what's going on?"

Zosia steadied her feet, and looked straight at Jac. Jac found it unnerving and looked down at her desk before looking back up again, just for a break from Zosia's unwavering gaze.

"I don't want to talk about it, if you don't mind."

Jac felt guilty for feeling so relieved that she didn't have to hold Zosia's hand while she cried. In here, they were professionals and public displays of emotion were not ideal.

Zosia took the stack of paper from Jac's desk, sat on the couch next to the empty folders, and started to sort the mess out. Jac looked at her with her sodden scrubs and took pity on her.

"Go and get changed, Zosia, you're soaked. I'll start on these."

Zosia looked at her in surprise "Are you sure? I can do it."

"I know you can. But I'm offering to help."

"Ok, well, thank you." Zosia darted from the room before Jac could change her mind. Jac sat gingerly in the spot Zosia had previously occupied, and surveyed the damage.

They were discharge papers. The backlog would mean that people who needed discharging would be here until tomorrow, potentially. They didn't have the time or bed space for that. Jac cursed Zosia under her breath, and started to file.

Zosia returned minutes later, in clean scrubs, with her hair redone in its austere bun. She moved a pile of papers and sat next to Jac. Sheet after sheet of paper they filed, working in a silence that was more companionable than awkward.

After a while, Zosia looked up at Jac. The manic, dazed expression from earlier had gone, replaced with a curious stare.

"How's it going with Poppy?"

Jac looked up. Zosia seemed genuinely interested. Jac bit the bullet.

"It's alright. It's been more up and down than a yoyo, and I don't think I've ever seen anyone cry so much before in my life. She's struggling, understandably. But she's great, she's brought a bit of life to the house. And she's so good with Emma."

"How long is she with you for?"

Jac sighed "Her dad is supposed to be showing his face soon. But from what I've heard he's a selective parent. He just picks her up when he feels like it, takes her shopping, spoils her, and then dumps her back with her mum when she doesn't fit in to his plans. Dumped, rather."

Zosia stuffed another piece of paper into a file and looked at Jac thoughtfully "So you're saying he's going to come back for her, take her off somewhere for a bit, and then drop her again as soon as he has to do any real parenting? Surely that can't be allowed."

"You'd think so. Part of me wonders if he'll just pull her out of school and drag her round the world on his seemingly endless business trips. He's in Delhi at the moment, apparently."

"A business trip could have been cut short for the death of your ex-wife, though, couldn't it? I'm sure his company would understand that as a parent, he has responsibilities."

"See that's the thing. Poppy didn't have his PA's number. She knew he had a PA, but she couldn't tell me their name. Made me wonder if his work are even aware that he has a daughter. Or an ex-wife, dead or alive."

Zosia chewed on her lip thoughtfully "There's got to be a reason for that. It's hard to hide your family from people, he must have gone out of his way to do it. Everyone knows Guy Self's my dad, don't they? Stuff like that gets around quickly."

"Wasn't it you who told everyone that anyway?" Jac flashed Zosia a quick smile before she could stop herself. "Anyway. We'll see what happens."

"Will you try and maintain custody?"

Jac ignored the last question, and forced a final form into the last folder, before shuffling the stack together and dumping it on Zosia's lap.

"Thank you, Doctor March."

Zosia stood up, cradling the folders like a baby "Jac, surely you want to fight to keep her?"

"You're free to go," Jac stared at her computer screen, willing herself to stay composed. Zosia spun on her heal and left, slamming the door behind her.

The words in front of Jac blurred beyond recognition. She blinked rapidly and was stunned to feel a tear trickle down her left cheek.

Bloody hell, she thought to herself, swiping it away. Not more fucking tears.


	15. Chapter 15

POPPY'S POINT OF VIEW

It's Sunday and it's like half 7 in the morning and I'm sitting in the front seat of Jac's car and we're driving to Devon.

DEVON. AT HALF 7 ON A SUNDAY MORNING.

She woke me up at 6, threw some clothes at me, and told me to get ready. For breakfast I had a cereal bar and half one of those little bottles of Tropicana. Jac has Radio 2 on, and she keeps muttering about how the presenters are 'shitty'. And we're speeding down some anonymous dual carriageway like our lives depend on getting to Devon.

The orange juice and oats are churning away in my stomach. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and a burp slips out before I can stop it. It's a gross loud one as well. Dad was the one who taught me how to burp properly; we used to have contests.

Jac shoots me a disgusted look, and turns up the music. I turn to look out the window at the browning trees that fly past.

This week hasn't been bad, to be honest. I went back to school on Wednesday. Wednesday was awful. Everyone treated me like I had some kind of infectious disease. No one came near to me, no one wanted to talk to me anymore. I couldn't take it, and I ran back to the hospital, and I got a text from Izzy as I was walking up the stairs and I just collapsed. Jac picked me up and took me to her office and let me cry and then sent me back to school.

The thing is, she told me, that evening, that it's not that they think I'm a freak. It's that they just don't know what to say to me. Like, what do you say to someone whose mum died? No one wants to say the wrong thing, so they say nothing instead. And Jac said the best way to sort the mess out is to be the conversation starter. Go over and ask a question about homework or something, and after the conversation gets rolling, the awkwardness is gone. It's like when your parent dies, the death seeps into your skin, it becomes part of you and your personality, and people can't see beyond it, at first. But after a while, it's okay again.

It's a relief being back at school, anyway. The hospital was alright, but it got so boring by the end of the day. You can only eat so many biscuits.

We've been driving for a couple of hours, when Jac pulls off the dual carriageway and starts following the kind of winding country roads that are basically guaranteed to make you travel sick. Plus, she drives like a maniac.

The churning becomes bubbling and the bubbling rises in my throat.

"I think I'm gonna be sick!" I clap my hand over my mouth. Jac pushes a button on her door and my window slides down.

"Don't you dare throw up in my car!"

Jac slows down as she rounds corners, and I take deep lungful's of fresh air. The coolness hits the base of my throat and calms my stomach. I lean back in, and Jac closes the window again.

"I was about to make you puke into your backpack if it meant you didn't get it on the seats." Jac smirks at me briefly. The seats are cream leather and the thought of throwing up all over them makes me just as anxious.

"I'm okay now, just needed some air. And for you to stop throwing the car round the corners like an F1 driver."

Jac tuts and speeds up.

Eventually the winding roads give way to a tiny coastal village, the kind with a harbour in the middle, and shelves of cottages winding up the cliff. Jac skirts the edge of it, and eases the car up a steep hill, and round a road which looks like it's due to plummet down into the sea at any moment. We cut through a tunnel built into a cliff and emerge above a cove. It's the kind of sandy beach lined with boulders, the sort that have tumbled effortlessly down from the cliff and landed in the exact right position for climbing. There's a tiny car park, and a little wooden shack selling polystyrene cups of lukewarm tea.

Jac pulls into a space facing the sea, switches off the engine, and leans forward, crossing her arms on the steering wheel.

It's so silent, you can hear the seagulls shitting on the shingle.

We sit there like that, watching the tide go out and the autumn sun shimmering across the damp sand, for ages. Each time I look out again, I notice something new. Like the different shades of grey and brown of the rocks and the cliffs. Like how the sand looks almost pink. Like how the sea is this ferocious shade of blue-green, and how the sun, at 9am, looks slippery and delicate.

Jac leans back from the steering wheel, and starts talking.

"We used to come here a lot, in the summers, when I was little. My grandad would drive us, if he and Mum weren't arguing. I always wanted to go to the kind of beaches my friends went to, the kind with a caravan park, and a playground, and a mini-golf course, and a pier with a funfair, and an ice cream van. My friend Sarah went to a beach like that every summer. And I used to pretend I did too, even though I just came here. My grandad always brought a bucket and spade with him, and he'd send me off to build sand castles while he and Mum sat on the rocks and drank tea from that little shack. I never knew what they talked about, but they always seemed happier afterwards. So after a few years I didn't mind coming here instead of some big shiny exciting resort, because I knew afterwards that everyone would be happier for a while."

She reaches down for her phone, which was charging while she was driving, and taps on it until she finds what she's looking for. She drops it into my lap, and I stare down at it.

It's a slightly blurry photo of a girl with ginger hair. She's wearing shorts, holding a spade, and is covered in sand. She has her face tilted towards the sun, her eyes closed in bliss, her mouth in an upwards curve. She looks peaceful and happy and utterly unlike Jac.

"I think that was the last time I was truly happy. In the childlike, innocent sense." Jac continues "I was 11. Two months later, I turned 12. And then a month after that, she left."

Jac pockets her phone, slides the key from the ignition and opens her door "You coming, or what?"

I follow suit, dragging my puffer jacket from the boot. It's freezing. Like, artic-level cold.

Jac and me cross the sand dunes and slip our way down the rocks. When we hit the sand, it feels like a mattress. Like it's soft, but not soft enough to cave. My New Balances leave perfect little sole prints as we head across.

Jac walks ahead towards the shore, her hair floating out behind her like a red curtain, hands shoved firmly into the pockets of her coat. She's walking like she's on a mission, but once she reaches the shore, she stops and sits down. I sit down next to her.

"I come here at least once a year. I always go alone, except for today. It helps to clear my head, I don't know why. Sometimes I just crave the feeling of being back here. It reminds me of when I used to believe I was safe."

"You're safe now." I say, bringing my knees up to my chest and crossing my hands in front of my shins.

Jac gives me a wry smile "I'm never safe."

I turn to look at her. My hair is caught up in the collar of my coat, so I can't see properly, but I could swear she looks genuinely happy. She's got this look on her face that I've never seen before. It's almost unrecognisable on her, like she's borrowed someone else's t-shirt.

It's relaxed.


	16. Chapter 16

-Thank you for the reviews! I'm so happy to see people are enjoying it! Onetinynaylor x-

JAC'S POINT OF VIEW

Jac had wanted to bring Poppy to the beach. It was like a subconscious thing, something in her head told her that it was the right thing to do. And yet, now they were there, Jac wanted more than anything to be alone. It felt like an intrusion of her privacy. She didn't know how to shake Poppy, and she couldn't just ignore her. So instead she talked.

And as she talked, she loosened up. She realised that Poppy wasn't the reason she felt uncomfortable. Poppy barely registered with her, as she followed Jac down the beach and sat down next to her by the shoreline. She was just a tired teenager, who had been taken on an early morning adventure by her foster carer.

They sat together, watching the tide dissolve further and further into the distance, and the sun rise higher and higher into the sky, for a while. Then, Poppy stood, slid off her coat, let it drop to the ground, and ran towards the nearest boulder stack. She began climbing, trying some routes and swapping them for others, until she reached the highest one. Then she sat there, and looked out over everything. Jac bet it was the best view there was.

She'd been sitting for a long time, Jac noticed, as she stood and clocked how the sand had made her jeans wet, and how cold her hands and feet were. They needed to make tracks if they wanted to get lunch.

Jac picked up Poppy's jacket (pale blue, North Face, overpriced) and dusted the sand off as best she could, before heading over to the rocks. Jac looked at the slick granite, and down at her pristine (albeit sandy) Dr Marten's brogues, and decided against ruining the patent leather.

"Pops!" Jac shouted up "We need to make tracks!"

Poppy looked at her disappointedly, but clambered down anyway. Jac marvelled at the ease with which she moved, effortlessly arching her back around jagged corners and angling her feet so as not to slip.

"I like it here."

"Yeah, I do too. But I'm also really hungry and there's a pretty good pub with a reservation for two back in the village."

Poppy grinned "OK, now you're talking."

The pair walked back across the beach with more energy than before. 3 whole hours had passed at the beach, Jac realised as they climbed back into the car, bashing their shoes on the gravel to get rid of the sand. It was like the time was just whisked away with the wind. That was the weirdest part about coming back. It was like time passed quicker at the beach to make up for all the time she spent away from it.

The pub was the sort run by a family, and this family had a dog that was allowed to run around the tables. Jac and Poppy settled in a little corner nook, surrounded by the kind of junk that gets hoarded in pubs. Dusty tin jugs, old road signs, model boats.

Jac went up to the bar to order drinks, and as she carried the glasses back, the Labrador followed. It was not a small dog, and it had a weighty tail that thumped rhythmically against Jac's legs. It reminded Jac uncomfortably of Elliot's dog Gary, who she had given to Elliot's son to look after when he'd become too big and slobbery for Jac to handle anymore.

She really bloody hated dogs.

Poppy didn't, though. She snapped her fingers and cooed and petted its velvety ears. Jac sat with her diet lemonade and faffed about with the straw as Poppy played.

She had something to tell Poppy. That had half been the point of the trip, when she really thought about it. They hadn't come all this way just for Jac to sit on the beach for a few hours. But she just didn't know what to say or how to start, even. She didn't have the words.

The thing was, Poppy's dad had come back. He had been back for about 4 days, in fact. At first, Jac herself had no idea. But then on Thursday, a tall man with an arrogant face and a pristine suit turned up at the hospital asking for her. His name was Aaron Jax, and he wanted to check who his daughter was living with.

But, he had told Jac, to her disgust, that he didn't want to see Poppy. At least not yet, anyway.

He'd made up some bullshit about not being ready, about her reminding him of his dead ex-wife and how hard that would be. Jac didn't buy any of it, and she told him as much. On reflection, she thought, he probably was grieving in his own way. Even ex-husbands need to grieve.

But, more importantly, she had also told him how selfish he was being. That his 14 year old daughter was living with someone she'd only known for as long as her mother had been dead. Jac wondered whether Aaron Jax was a violent man. He'd clenched his jaw and slammed a fist down on her desk during their meeting. After that, he had told her curtly when the funeral was, and who to speak to about getting hold of Poppy's belongings, but that was it. He'd walked out without a backwards glance and slammed the door behind him.

"Jac!"

Jac was suddenly aware of someone speaking to her, and looked up. Poppy was shooting her confused looks from behind the back of a waitress, who was plonking plates of food down on the table with a little too much vigour.

Poppy smiled at the waitress, and then turned to Jac "What's up with you? I said Jac like 5 times."

"Sorry," Jac forced a quick smile, and then picked up her knife and fork. They'd ordered pies, proper pub food, and as Jac looked at the flaky pastry and the globs of gravy, she regretted her choice with every fibre of her being.

She leaned forward to grumble to Poppy "Do you think they do salads here?"

Poppy rolled her eyes in response and dug her fork further into the pie "It's yummy! Honestly! Just try it. At least eat the mash."

Mashed potato, Jac thought privately, was for children, or old people with no teeth.

She shovelled a mouthful in before she could think about it again, and choked it down. The pie was good, actually, to be fair. But she couldn't force any more down.

It didn't take long for Jac to realise that the reason she couldn't eat was because she needed to tell Poppy. She had to get it over with.

"Poppy…" she began, before tailing off. Wimp, she thought to herself irritably.

"What?"

Jac took a sip of lemonade and a deep breath, before jumping in "Pops, your dad is back."

Poppy's fork clattered to the floor, splattering steak and gravy all over the tiles. The wretched dog lapped it up, tail thumping against the table.

"Excuse me?"

"Your dad's back. He came to see me the other day, at the hospital. He's been back a few days, sorting things out."

Poppy looked down at her plate, voice trembling "Are you telling me that he's been back days, actual days, and not come to get me?"

Jac sighed "I'm so sorry, Poppy. He didn't mean to hurt you."

"He never fucking does. Every time he goes away somewhere, and comes back weeks later, he says 'it's not about you, darling, it's about work'. Well, sometimes work doesn't matter, does it? Sometimes your daughter is more important."

"I agree completely. In fact, I think your father is an idiot. I think he doesn't know what he's missing. But he does have a lot to sort out, and he's upset to be having to deal with it. No one wants to plan the funeral of their ex-wife. Speaking of which, the funeral is on Thursday. I'll have you signed out from school for the day."

Poppy nodded, still not looking up from the plate. Jac was watching carefully for signs of tears. Poppy's tears tended to be sudden, and usually came with a side order of shouting and stomping, which would not be ideal in public.

As Jac was watching, Poppy jerked her head up.

"This is your fault, isn't it? Did you tell him he can't see me or something? Like you tried to stop me seeing Izzy?"

"Hang on. How could it possibly be my fault? Why would I stop you from seeing him?" Jac didn't like this confrontation. Poppy's voice grew louder by the second; she ignored Jac and carried on her onslaught.

"And is that why we drove out here to the arse end of fucking nowhere, just in case he showed up and tried to see me? Are you doing some 'protection' bullshit Jac?"

Poppy was full-pelt yelling now. People were staring. Even the bloody dog had run to hide. Jac could not and would not stand by and be spoken to like that, in public, by a 14 year old.

"Keep your voice down!" Jac hissed, fixing Poppy with a steely glare. "Listen to me, and listen properly. I didn't stop your dad from seeing you. The simple fact is, he isn't ready to. It's got absolutely nothing to do with me. Get that into your head right now."

Poppy scowled at Jac, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Jac paused for a second to gear up, before continuing.

"Just because your dad said he wasn't ready to see you yet, doesn't mean he won't see you at all. You are not the only person who has been affected by your mother's death, and it's high time you understood that. You are not the only one grieving."

Jac, who was expecting a barrage of abuse in return, held her breath as she waited. Poppy leant down to the floor for her fork, calmly wiped it on her napkin, and continued eating. She cleared her plate in complete silence, looking only at the food.

After a couple of minutes, Jac realised that Poppy had nothing to say. There was nothing to say. What do you say to that? What possible reply is there?

Jac pushed her food round her plate as she waited. When Poppy had finished, she placed her knife and fork next to each other on the right hand edge of her plate, folded her napkin and tucked it beneath the cutlery, and drained her glass. She reached behind her for her coat, slid it on and stood up. It was then that she finally looked at Jac.

She looked defeated. And Jac was terrified. Defeated was the last expression she had been expecting, and it was, to her own surprise, the last one she wanted to see on Poppy's face. Jac wanted Poppy to fight back, because she was right to be annoyed with her father. She just wasn't right to be annoyed with Jac.

She followed Poppy out of the pub, nodding to the waitress behind the bar on the way out. Poppy stalked ahead of Jac, and waited silently by the car to get in. Jac turned on the heating, put the radio on, and pulled out from the car park onto the road.

The journey was painfully quiet. It wasn't a companionable silence, like it usually was between them. It was an ugly silence, but Jac refused to break it. If Poppy wanted to play the silent game, then Jac was in it to win.

It took 2 hours for Poppy to break the silence. By that point, Jac was becoming concerned. Two hours is a long time for a teenager to be silent for, she thought. So the words that left Poppy's mouth, words that would have normally sent a flash of irritation through her, were as much of a relief as that glorious moment when paracetamol slices through the dull throbbing of a headache.

"Jac," Poppy said quietly "Can we stop at a service station? I need the loo."


	17. Chapter 17

POPPY'S POINT OF VIEW

All day, I'm itching to leave school and get to the hospital. I need to talk to Jac.

The other day, when she told me my dad was back, I was angry with her for not telling me before. She didn't tell me he was back, and I missed out on time with him. She should have told me; that's the decent thing to do. Even if he didn't want to see me, like she said, I still should have known.

I'm calmer now, but not calm enough that I don't want to do anything about it. It's been 3 days since we went to Devon and Jac ruined a perfectly good pie lunch with her irritating news, and Dad's still ignoring my calls and not talking. But, at the end of the day, he's my dad and he loves me and I need him. I'm going to tell Jac that I want to go back to my dad, as soon as possible.

As soon as Geography is done and Izzy's hugged me goodbye, I leg it out of the school gates and down the road. I never realised how close school is to the hospital before Mum, but it's literally a ten minute walk, and it's only five if I run. So I do, and I get to the hospital, and head straight to the lifts to go up to Darwin.

As I'm jabbing at the buttons, willing the doors to ping open, I feel someone behind me, just sort of standing there, and I turn around to see Zosia.

"Hi Zosia," I smile. I like Zosia. She was a bit weird when I first met her, but then so was I probably. When I started sitting in the staff lounge all day, she used to pop in to chat in her breaks and bring me Kit Kats from the vending machine down the hall.

She looks blank, completely devoid of any emotion or expression, as she replies "Hi."

The doors swish open, and I move aside to let a porter out. He tries to manoeuvre a wheelchair past, but Zosia's standing right in the way, clutching a coffee, staring into the lift. He clears his throat, but Zosia doesn't even flinch.

I reach over and tug at her sleeve, pulling her towards me. The porter nods at me in thanks, and I give Zosia a gentle shove into the lift. The doors close, and she backs slowly into the corner of the lift, watching the ceiling with the same deadpan gaze she aimed at me before.

This is weird as hell.

"You ok?" I ask.

She ignores me or doesn't hear me, I can't tell which, but as soon as the doors ping open, she stumbles forward, tripping into the ward, and teeters her way down the hallway.

I need to tell Jac that Zosia's gone mental. Surely a doctor who can't even stand up is pretty useless?

I head straight through to Jac's office, avoiding looking at the patients with their drips and beeping monitors and oxygen masks. They're all so ill, and they all remind me of Mum.

I knock on the door three times, and open it gently.

"Hey sweetie" Mo's sitting at her desk, beaming over at me, but Jac's nowhere to be found. There's music playing from a speaker in the corner, and it sounds suspiciously like Paolo Nutini. I never even realised music existed as a concept in this office. And yet here was Mo, humming along like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I bet Jac doesn't know.

I don't really know what to say for a second, so I just sort of grunt and point to the sofa. I'm so awkward around Mo. She's just so warm and funny and nice and I feel like a boring, silent weirdo in comparison.

Mo laughs and nods, and I sit on the couch, bouncing my bag onto the floor.

"Jac's in theatre until 4, in case you're wondering."

It's quarter to 4. That's not long to wait. I can manage 15 minutes with Mo.

"So how was school?" she asks, not looking away from her computer screen as she taps away at the keyboard.

"Good thanks." I say, plucking my phone from my blazer pocket and scrolling through the notifications screen. Nothing from Dad. Goddammit.

"What lessons did you have?"

I'm still flicking through endless Whatsapp group chat replies, and say back absently "Biology, PE, Art, Maths, er…Geography, and…no, that's it."

"Sounds pretty good."

"Yeah it was OK."

There's a message from Gem on the girls chat about going ice skating on Saturday, and I love ice skating. Jac wouldn't be keen because she doesn't know any of the girls. But hopefully by that point, I'll be back with Dad anyway. I unlock my phone and tell them I'm up for it.

While I've been texting, Mo's said something to me, and I've missed it.

"Sorry?"

Mo sighs in my direction "Why don't you go and grab yourself a drink?"

I shrug and stand up, my blazer hanging off my shoulder. I head back through Darwin, head low to avoid seeing anything I don't want to, and push open the staffroom door.

At first glance, it looks empty. I head over to the kettle, flick the switch, and grab some milk from the fridge. My tea is brewing gently, when I turn around and see a figure slumped against the wall at the end of the sofa. She's crushed against a filing cabinet.

It's Zosia.

I run over, pull at her arms, feel for a pulse under her jaw, and tug her onto the sofa.

"Zosia, wake up, wake up, please just wake up, please!"

She's still and silent.

I start to scream in panic. Last time this happened, she died. Not Zosia, Mum. I couldn't save her. I have to save Zosia.

I let go of her arm, yank open the door, and bellow out into the hallway, just as Jac is walking past. She looks both surprised and irritated to see her foster kid yelling in her ward, but I don't care.

"It's Zosia, she's collapsed, and she won't wake up!"

Jac spins round and shouts "Some help here!" before barging me out the way, just like she did last time, and listening to Zosia's chest, her airways, checking her pupils.

A trolley arrives, and Zosia is hoisted up onto it, and rushed away, Jac running alongside as it hurtles through the ward. I watch them disappear round the corner, and suddenly feel a tear slipping down my nose.

I swipe it away, irritated, and turn back to the staffroom to survey the mess. Zosia had been lying against a coffee table, and the magazines and coasters were everywhere. There was a mug of spilled coffee on the carpet, and the sofa cushions were everywhere but the sofa.

What the hell had Zosia been doing?

It doesn't take long to clear up. I mop up the coffee, wash up the mug, put all the cushions back in their rightful places, and scatter the magazines artfully across the table, smoothing out the crumpled covers.

As I'm plumping a cushion, wiping tear after tear from my cheeks (I wish to God I could stop crying), Jac walks back into the room and shuts the door.

"She's had an overdose, we think."

I stop in my tracks and drop the coaster I'm holding in shock. An overdose?

"What?"

"An overdose, Poppy." Jac sounds irritated. "I need you to tell me exactly what you saw."

"She was slumped over the end of the sofa and the coffee table. Her head was against the wall, but the rest of her was against the filing cabinet. She was just silent and just lying there, I moved her to the sofa and tried to wake her up but I couldn't."

Jac nods "Did you see her on your way in to the ward? Valentine saw her just before she must have collapsed, and said she seemed a bit off."

I think back to Zosia and the lift, and want to kick myself. I should have told Mo. This is my fault.

"She was weird in the lift, like she couldn't hear me, and she couldn't see the porter with a wheelchair and I had to push her out of the way, and she was kind of stumbling about down the ward, and I thought I needed to tell someone but I got distracted and forgot."

Jac's eyes flash with anger "A mentally ill member of staff has overdosed on God knows what, and you're telling me you could have said something earlier? Are you kidding me? Come to think of it, why on earth are you here anyway?"

She's utterly furious, and I can't look her in the face. I can't tell her that I came here to fire her as my foster carer, so I stare at my feet and nod instead.

"You stupid, stupid…" Jac cuts off before she finishes, biting her tongue, yanking the door open and slamming it again afterwards.

I had the chance to save Zosia, but I didn't do it. I got distracted by Mo and her music and Gem and ice skating, and now Zosia's overdosed and collapsed. And I could have stopped it.

I've never hated myself more in my life.


	18. Chapter 18

JAC'S POINT OF VIEW

They were back to the silent treatment again, Poppy and Jac. Two days since Zosia's overdose, and neither party had spoken to the other, except for the cursory "Dinner's ready" type exchanges.

Jac hated not talking to Poppy, but she hated more the way she'd spoken to Poppy after she'd found Zosia. It wasn't Poppy's fault that Zosia had overdosed on anxiety medication. Poppy wouldn't have understood that the erratic behaviour she'd witnessed in the lift could have ended like that. Jac recalled biting her tongue to keep from being rude to Poppy. She'd called her stupid, and had wanted more than anything to unleash her anger, but that would have gotten them both nowhere, and Jac knew Poppy well enough by now to know that she would retaliate quickly and loudly, and that was the last thing they needed.

Poppy hadn't said why she was at the hospital in the first place, either. She had her own key now. She could have just gone home.

Jac found herself pondering everything as she headed into the hospital. Her first stop was to see Zosia, who was holed up in Keller, recovering. Jac found visiting colleagues in hospital difficult. She didn't like seeing them vulnerable and ill, and she had no idea what to say to Zosia.

"I'm sorry you overdosed on someone else's medication"? Jac almost laughed at the awkwardness of it all.

Almost.

As she queued for a coffee at Pulses, her phone pinged from the depths of her bag, and she scrabbled about to find it. It was a reminder.

"Pops Mum funeral tomorrow 3pm."

Shit.

Jac cursed herself. She should have known Poppy wouldn't hold onto the silent treatment for this long just because Jac got angry with her. Teenage girls don't work like that. They fight back, they don't retreat into silent little shells.

The lift to Keller felt like it lasted an eternity. Jac knew now what to talk to Zosia about. Zosia's mum had died, Jac was sure of it. She would know how it felt personally.

Zosia was propped up in bed when Jac arrived, sipping water from a plastic cup, with wires coming out of her hand. The wires freaked Jac out more than she liked to admit. Wires in patients are normal, because they're patients. But Zosia was an actual person, not just an ill stranger, and the needles jabbing into her were painful to look at.

Zosia gave Jac a quick embarrassed smile "Hello."

"Hi." Jac sat down, dropping her bag at her feet and sliding her coat off. "We need to talk."

Zosia looked down at her lap "I just love it when people say that."

Jac rolled her eyes. Zosia was still full of attitude, even in that state. She reached down into her bag and pulled out a smashed black iPhone 6, and slid it onto the bedside table.

"I believe this is yours."

Zosia's eyes widened, and she reached out for the phone, rubbing her thumb over the biggest crack in the glass, in a way Jac realised she'd seen Zosia do before.

"Thank you. Where…?"

"Under the coffee table in the staff room. Must have dropped it when you collapsed."

"Hmmm."

Jac crossed one leg over the other at the knee, and tucked her hand in between her legs. "What's going on, Zosia?"

Zosia turned her phone over and over in her hands, staring at it while she worked. Jac watched her carefully.

"Zosia?"

She looked up.

"I need help, Jac." Zosia's eyes were full of tears, and so pleading that Jac's heart broke for her. She reached across and took hold of one of Zosia's hands.

"It's going to be OK, we're going to get you help."

Zosia tilted her head back, and blinked away her tears. She gripped tighter onto Jac's hand.

"Zosia," Jac continued carefully "It wasn't even your medication. It wasn't lithium."

Zosia tore her hand away from Jac's with surprising force. She reached for her phone again, rubbing the pad of her thumb along the spider web of cracks.

"I know. I found it in the locker room. I don't know whose it was."

"I do, but let's not go into that. It was for anxiety. And you don't have anxiety, you have bipolar. But the tox screen showed that you actually didn't take very much. It shouldn't have affected you the way it did. So why did it?"

Zosia didn't even bother to stop the tears from streaming down her face. Jac handed her a tissue, but Zosia crumpled it up in her hands and picked at it. Jac felt a twang of irritation, and then immediately felt guilty.

"Sometimes I don't take it."

"The lithium?"

Zosia nodded "At first I just forgot. But I like not taking it. It reminds me of before I was bipolar, when I wasn't on medication, and I didn't rely on it all the time. I just wanted to be normal for a bit."

Jac sighed. Of all people, Zosia should know that the way of getting control of your life when you're bipolar is medicating it, not ignoring it.

"That's not how it works Zosia, and you know it."

"I know!" Zosia flipped her head back to stare at the ceiling again, tears still steadily sliding down her pale face "That's the stupid thing, once I started not taking it properly, I couldn't stop. Some days I took a half dose, some days full, most days none."

"How long has this been going on for?"

Zosia shut her eyes tight "A few weeks."

Jac remembered the conversation in her office last week, how weird Zosia had been. She could have kicked herself. She should have done something.

Jac didn't realised she'd been thinking out loud until Zosia leaned over and touched her shoulder gently.

"It's not your fault, Jac."

Jac shrugged her hand away "It is, Zosia. I'm your boss, it's my job to make sure you're fit to work, and I noticed last week that your behaviour was odd. I should have known when you said you were fine. I should have followed up."

Zosia shook her head "Stop, Jac."

Jac ignored her "And then when Poppy found you, I blamed her. I told her she was stupid for not telling me before that she'd seen you acting erratically."

"Poppy found me?" Zosia looked up in shock "Your Poppy?"

Jac nodded, noting how Zosia had said 'your Poppy' with a little inward smile.

"Oh God, Jac."

"She's not spoken to me since I shouted at her. I thought it was because I'd been rude to her, but she's not the kind of person to keep quiet when challenged. Normally she fights back tooth and nail. Then I remembered this morning that her mum's funeral is tomorrow."

"And that's why she's been so quiet. Jac, didn't she find her mum collapsed and unconscious before she died?"

A horrifying deadly cold feeling coated Jac from her head to her toes, running down her arms like icy water. That was the second time Poppy had had to deal with collapsed people, and the first time, someone had died. She must have been terrified.

"Oh my God." Jac sank her head down into her hands and rubbed at her eyes "I'm the worst human in the world ever."

"You're not." Zosia said quietly "And I will never forgive myself if I caused Poppy any pain."

Jac looked up at Zosia and gave her a quick smile "Try not to worry about it. I'll talk to her and grovel and buy her the trainers she keeps telling me about."

"Jac Naylor, grovelling? What's this kid done to you?"

Jac gave her a wry smile "Don't push it, Doctor March."

"What are you going to do about the funeral?"

"She's going to it, tomorrow, and it'll be the first time she's seen her dad since everything happened as well. It's going to be tough. And I'm not going, because she doesn't want me there. Which is fair enough, I suppose."

Zosia fiddled around with her phone again for a few minutes before she started talking. Jac watched her.

"When Mama died, I felt like something was crushing my ribcage. And it still hasn't left, although it's eased up a little. But if that's how Poppy's feeling, then I can tell you for sure that she'll want someone there tomorrow. Even if you're just waiting outside for her. I had no one but Dad and I didn't even really know him. Poppy's got someone who cares about her, and for that reason alone, you need to go."

Jac didn't want to tell Zosia that she'd been planning on hiding out in her car just outside the church, but she was relieved that she had affirmed what Jac had thought was the right thing to do.

"I'll do that. Thank you Zosia."

"No, thank you Jac."

"I'd better get going, but I'm going to pop back in before I go home." Jac stood up, reached for her bag, and swung it over her shoulder, before heading for the door. She turned back to look at Zosia before she left. She looked tiny and frail in her hospital bed, smothered by the ugly gown and white cotton sheets. Jac watched as Zosia used the edge of a sheet to wipe her tear-stained face.

"Zosia, call your psychiatrist."

Zosia looked up and gave Jac a watery smile "I will. I promise."


	19. Chapter 19

POPPY'S POINT OF VIEW

I stand in front of the full length mirror in the bathroom and smooth down my dress. It's this vivid shade of poppy red, which was Mum's favourite colour, and it's tight at the top with an A-line, bum hugging skirt. Jac ordered it for me. I'm wearing it with bare legs, even though it's October and it's technically not warm enough, and little red strappy sandals. I don't care if I'm cold. I don't really care about anything right now.

I'm smoothing concealer over the bags under my eyes, and on the small mountain that erupted on my jaw overnight, when there's a soft knock on the door.

"Hey Emma," I say, not turning round. I can tell it's her by the light stomps she does, like she's running everywhere. She comes further in and hugs my legs from behind. I turn around and look down at her. She's all big eyes and tousled hair.

"Pretty dress." She says solemnly

"Thanks." I bend down and hug her back. "You okay Emmy?"

"Yep. We're making cake."

"That sounds fun."

"Peppa Pig cake!"

"Can I have one when they're done?"

Emma nods at me, and reaches a hand out to stroke my hair. I straightened it, and I didn't realised but it's gotten seriously long.

After a couple of minutes of twirling my hair, Emma smiles at me and skips off down the stairs, leaving me to sort my face out again. The mountain has doubled in size in the five minutes I haven't been looking at it, I swear.

I head back up to the attic to find my necklace. It was in Mum's hospital stuff; she wore it all the time, and it's the tiniest star on a delicate chain. Jac rescued it and gave it to me, and now it's my favourite thing in the whole world. It's balanced on top of my backpack, and my backpack is on top of my laptop case, and my laptop is on top of one of 4 packed suitcases.

I'm going to Dad's.

Jac doesn't know yet. It sort of got lost in the whole Zosia collapsing drama, and I forgot to tell her. But this might be better as a surprise, because it means she won't have time to call social and stop it from happening. I'm going to clear it with Dad, and then he can drive me over to get my stuff, and then I'll tell her.

Jac calls up the stairs, as if she can sense when I'm thinking about her "Poppy, time to get going!"

I head down stairs with this navy blue jersey blazer she leant me. I look more like I'm going to a summer wedding than a funeral, and I think that's exactly how Mum would have wanted it.

Jac smiles at me as I walk into the hallway. She's got a babysitter for Emma so that she can drive me in peace, which is nice I guess. As I walk past the doorway to the lounge, I see Sarah, Emma's regular babysitter, sitting on the floor setting out a jigsaw.

During the drive, my stomach churns more and more with each passing minute. This is my last chance to say goodbye to Mum, and that's the most horrific thought I've ever had to comprehend.

The funeral's in the same church that Grandma's was in. That was a while ago; I was only 9 and I can't remember that much. I remember the stained glass windows though, because the sun is so bright through them that all the grey stone walls in the building glow with all these colours.

Jac drops me off and drives away, and I watch her until she's at the end of the road so that she can't turn back. She offered several times to wait outside, but I don't want her here. I'm not sure why.

I turn on my heel and head up the cobbled path to the entrance. The door is heavy and wooden, and once through it, there's a porch with red and white flowers, and a framed photo of Mum when she was younger, before she had me. She looks beautiful.

My dad's standing further along, greeting people. He's wearing a suit and a bow tie, and he's had a hair-cut.

"Hi Dad." I say.

He turns away from some old family friend he's just said hello to, and stares at me.

"Hello, Poppy."

He reaches down for a stiff hug, and looks awkwardly round like he's looking for someone else to talk to.

I didn't come here for him to be awkward.

"Dad, I need your help. I need to come and live with you."

He looks as if he's been slapped, and pauses for a second to watch me. He looks guarded and confused.

"Tell me this is some kind of joke?"

Do I look like I'm joking? What kind of response is that?

"No," I shuffle my feet around, confidence draining away.

"Well what happened with that Naylor woman?"

"With Jac?" I wrinkle my nose. None of this is Jac's fault, she's done nothing wrong. If anything, she's too protective, but I'm not sure that's a valid excuse to sack a foster carer for. "Nothing's happened with Jac. But Jac isn't family, you are. You're my dad!"

Dad's rubbing his nose in that way he always did when he felt guilty for going away, and his forehead is getting redder and redder.

"Poppy." He's flustered and nervous and I've never seen him like this before, and now I'm freaked out "Poppy, this is your mother's funeral. This is not the time or the place to talk about this."

"Well if not now, when? You've been avoiding me all week! You've been back ages, and you haven't even been to see me!"

I don't realise how loudly I'm shouting, until Mara, one of Mum's best friends, starts coming over with a concerned look on her face. Dad takes me by the elbow and steers me to the back of the church. I look back down the aisle and see the white coffin at the front, flowers tastefully adorning the top. I can't get my head round the idea that there's a person in there, and that person is my mum. It's just so surreal.

"Stop this now, Poppy. I've been busy sorting out this colossal fucking mess, if you hadn't noticed, and the last thing I needed was to be dealing with you as well."

I feel stung. He's treating me like an inconvenience.

"I need you to suck it up. I also need you to come up the front and say a few words, about how special your mum was or something. Favourite memory, anything."

"I don't want to." I say, but it comes out as a whisper. I can't stand up and speak. I can't do it. How can I stand up there and talk about my favourite memory with Mum like she's past tense, over and done with?

"You don't have a choice." Dad hisses at me, before letting go of my elbow as Mara comes over.

"Poppy, my sweet," she envelopes me in a hug, and when she lets go, Dad puts a protective hand on my shoulder and pulls me close.

"Thank you for being here Mara," He says, the smooth talker.

He and Mara chat for a little longer, but I'm zoned out. How do I get him to take me in? I just want to be around family. Jac's been great but she's not a relative and the thought of spending the rest of my life with the Naylor's is terrifying, because I'm not a Naylor, and I never will be. I'm a Jax, and there's a Jax standing right by me and he's the one person who's supposed to love and protect me no matter what.

Mara leaves, and Dad leans down to whisper "Thought of something to say yet?"

I nod quickly, and he lets go of me. I head to the front and sit, staring at the walls and willing myself to hold it together. What the fuck am I going to say?

The service is a good one, I think. It's the kind of one that Mum would have liked. If this was someone else's funeral, and she was sitting here beside me, she'd like how tasteful the flowers are, and how gentle the sermon is, and she'd like how the hymns aren't aggressively Christian.

Dad says very little, but Mara, Jess and Peggy, who have been Mum's friends since they were my age, all speak together. They have a slideshow of funny pictures of Mum and I make a mental note to ask Mara to send them to me later.

The rector announces that I'm speaking, and I stand, willing my legs to stop wobbling, and head to the lectern. He tilts the microphone down so that I can reach, and steps away.

It's silent. There's about 30 people here, I think. I recognise some, but most are strangers.

"I haven't met many of you before, but my name is Poppy, and I'm here to tell you about my mum."

I clear my throat, and look straight down the middle of the aisle so I don't make eye contact with anyone. I can feel Dad's gaze on me; it makes my neck hot.

"My mum…"

I can't do this. I can't breathe.

"Mum was…"

I turn to Dad and shoot him a look of panic. He's steely eyed and serious and the look on his face makes me more anxious. I don't want to annoy him.

"My mum was - is – the nicest person I have ever met. She always went out of her way to make sure that people were okay."

I glance back over at Dad, and he looks calmer. I'm doing alright, I think.

"I know she did a lot with her life, I know she had her PHD and she was a speech therapist, and she helped thousands of people and that is something that I want to do too. But I think she should be remembered for more than just her work."

I shift on my feet and gather myself before continuing.

"A couple of years ago, my best friend fell off my trampoline and dislocated her knee. And I didn't know what to do, I ran inside screaming for Mum. And Mum was just so calm. She gathered Izzy up in her arms in the same way she would for me, and called the ambulance, and wiped her tears and propped her up safely, and hugged her all the way to the hospital."

The tears are slipping off my nose fast. I hadn't even realised that I was crying.

"And the thing is, it wouldn't have mattered who was hurt. She knew Izzy well, but it could have been a random man in the streets who was hurt, and she'd have done exactly the same, because she cared about everyone. She was the kind of person who you could go to with a problem, and after a hug and a pep talk, the world seemed okay again. She used to smooth out my troubles like they were wrinkles in a blanket."

I stop to wipe my tears on my blazer sleeve, leaving a concealer mark on the cuff.

"Since she's gone, she hasn't been there to smooth out the biggest problem I've ever had in my whole life, and that hurts more than anything. But her memory lives on, and the memories of what an amazing mum she was to me, and what an amazing friend she was, help keep her alive. The best memories I have were ones when I got to witness what an amazing carer she was to everyone, not just to me."

I step down from the lectern, as the rector steps up and announces another hymn. I walk straight down the aisle and stand at the back near the font, collecting myself. Dad heads down towards me as I'm choking back my tears. He stands next to me, facing the front.

"Thank you for doing that. That was…nice." He doesn't look at me, but hands me a tissue from his jacket pocket.

"Listen, Poppy. You can't come to live with me. I'm moving to Dubai, permanently, at the end of this month, and I can't take you with me. But you're okay with Ms Naylor, aren't you? You don't need me."

I can't speak. I'm absolutely furious. I can't hold back my sobs anymore. It takes me a minute to find the words.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He tries to speak but I cut him off.

"Why didn't you say anything before you let me embarrass myself by begging you to let me move in with you? You're my dad. I should never have to beg for my own father to want me. That's not what dad's do."

My whole body is shaking, but he won't touch me. Not even a hand on the shoulder.

"It's not personal, Poppy."

"But it must be my fault. You used to want me, you used to love me. Before you and Mum split, you wanted me. But now, now you don't. I must have changed. There must be something so fundamentally wrong with me that my own dad, the one person who's supposed to love me, doesn't. What is it? What's wrong with me?"

"It's really not you. It's me. I…I have a girlfriend. And a son. He's almost 1."

The words hit me like a bomb.

A girlfriend and a son. He has another child.

"They're coming with me to Dubai. And I'm sorry, but I have a different family now, Poppy. Is there anything so wrong with that?"

I suppress a scream that's threatening to erupt from within me like a volcano, and say through gritted teeth "What about me?"

"I'm sure you can stay with Ms Naylor. I'll send child maintenance money, just like I did for your mum."

I can't take it anymore. I spin on my heel, choking on my sobs, and run from the church, as far from him as I can. My stupid sandals are tripping me. I stumble down the path, Dad hurrying after me.

"Poppy, stop, I'm not leaving it like this."

"Fuck you, Dad!" I scream back at him. We're not in the church anymore, I don't care what I say or who hears. "Fuck you, fuck your girlfriend, and fuck your other child who you love more than me!"

He's gripped onto my wrists; restraining me, because my fists are clenched and I can tell you for sure who they'd be hitting right now.

"I don't love Oscar more than you. You're both my children."

Oscar.

"I don't deserve this," I say, wrenching myself from his grasp. "My mum has just died. Died! And where were you? And now you humiliate me at her funeral, you make me speak in front of everyone, and refuse to take me in. I don't deserve this."

I turn away from him again, head out of the gate, and take a left. He follows to the gate, but stops there and shouts down the street after me.

"I'm sorry."

It gets carried away with the wind. I barely hear him.

At first I don't realise where I'm walking, but it's a subconscious route, burned into my brain from years and years of childhood.

Right onto London Road, 5th left onto Kendrick, down the hill, across the roundabout at the bottom, first right, third left. Noel Drive. Home.

I know which house is mine instinctively. It's burned into my psych. I walk up the brick path, kicking at the stones that fill the gaps in between. They hurt my bare toes, but I'm past giving a shit now.

I brought my key with me earlier, tucked into my bra just in case. I take it out and run a finger over the smooth metal, the Yale logo on each side, and slide it in to the lock.

Except it doesn't seem to fit.

I jiggle it about some more, twist it, turn it, jam it in, yank it back out again, blow through the key hole in case it's dusty. I run out of ways to fix it. There's no denying it; the key doesn't fit.

I look closer at the key hole and the lock on the door. The handle is different. This lock is not a Yale lock.

He's changed the fucking locks.

Why would he do that? He's going to Dubai, he's not staying in Holby. He's not moving in here, surely?

I peer through the windows in the door, but I can't see anything through the frosted glass, so I move to the bay window. The net curtains are gone, there's a clear view.

And it's empty.

The kitchen is bare. There's no furniture, no shelves of books, no plants anywhere. The sofas are gone. The TV has vanished. The checked curtains at the back door are gone. The walls aren't even yellow anymore, they're a dusky blue.

My house is empty. He's gotten rid of everything and changed the locks and painted over my history in dusky blue paint.

It's then that I turn around and notice the For Sale sign nailed to the gate.

He's selling my home.

He's selling Mum. Or what's left of her, at least.

I feel my knees wobble, and the wobble spreads to the rest of my legs until I can't feel them, and suddenly I'm on the floor. There's a new doormat, and it's scratchy. The old one was soft from all the boots that were scraped on it, worn from all the times I sat on it, locked out after school while I waited for Mum to get home.

Mum.

I need my mum.

I need my mummy back.


	20. Chapter 20

-This is it! Thank you so much for all the reviews and support; I hope I did the story and the characters justice by finishing it how I did! Please keep reviewing so I know what kind of Jac fic to write next. Onetinynaylor x-

JAC'S POINT OF VIEW

Jac had always hated hoovering. It was the worst of all the chores, and since she had left the care system, she had always lived either alone, with a toddler, or with Jonny, who had the housekeeping skills of an ape on acid – meaning that Jac was always the one who hoovered.

Maybe it was the horrible noise, that reminded her of television static on the tiny crap little TV in the home. Or maybe it was that the hoover itself was clunky and difficult to manoeuvre. Maybe it was that the suction was never quite as good as she wanted it to be, or the way the cylinder always needed emptying when she was farthest away from a bin. Whatever it was, she was not a fan of hoovering.

Jac tugged the machine up the stairs. She'd returned from driving Poppy to the funeral - having hoped that she'd be able to move her car further up the road and wait around for bit but also having been deterred from doing so by Poppy's determined little face as she watched Jac drive up the road - sent Emma and Sarah off to the park, and set about cleaning the entire house from top to bottom because she didn't know how else to channel her nervous energy.

Something was going to go wrong. Jac could feel it in her gut. And her gut was, in her experience, always right.

She'd mopped the kitchen floor, wiped down the worktops and cupboards, dusted the windowsills, hoovered the hall and the stairs and Emma's room and her own room, she'd made the beds, cleared away Emma's books, scrubbed the bathrooms…and all that remained was Poppy's room. Jac cursed each stair individually as she hoovered it, clearing the thick cream carpet of fluff and hair and little bits of glitter, until she reached the top. She ran back down the stairs to unplug the hoover, threw the plug as far up the stairs as she could, and listened as it hit the hoover itself with a satisfying clang. That blessed silence after it's been turned off, she thought, was the best thing about hoovering.

Jac headed back up, and stood at the top to survey the damage. Poppy often left things on the floor, and although normally Jac would just hoover around them, today she felt like doing it properly. She lifted a damp towel off the top of what looked like a mountain of stuff, and promptly dropped it again. Underneath the towel was a suitcase.

She spun around and saw another peeking out from beneath a blanket, and another on her bed, partially disguised by a piled-up duvet.

That was sneaky, Jac thought, if poorly executed. Fair play to the girl for trying.

Then she paused.

Hang on. Suitcases. Suitcases mean she's packed, Jac thought. Packed means she was expecting to go somewhere. They had no plans to go anywhere.

Jac's heart sank to the pit of her stomach. Poppy had packed to go back with her dad.

She hadn't felt panic like that in a long time, Jac later thought. She immediately dropped everything, hurtling down the stairs, pulling on boots and a coat and scrambling about for keys and her phone all at once.

Poppy had said earlier that she was leaving her phone behind, so that option was out of the window. Jac recalled thinking how odd it was, because Poppy tended to stay surgically attached to her phone. But Jac knew there was time to intercept her. It wasn't supposed to finish until 4. It was 10 to, Jac noted, which left just enough time to get across town.

Jac sped more than she'd ever sped in her life, through the streets, dodging dogs and school kids and errant old people, until she hit the right road. She pulled into the church car park (there was absolutely no point trying to disguise herself from Poppy anymore) and stormed over to the door.

One peep showed Jac that the service was over. People dressed in black were milling about holding mugs of tea, looking miserable and talking in low voices. There should have been a slightly shorter version dressed in bright red somewhere too. Jac craned her neck round the door to see, and came face to face with none other than Aaron Jax.

"Ms Naylor." He said, icily "What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for Poppy, actually."

"You and me both," Aaron said grimly, pulling the door open for Jac to enter the foyer of the church. She noticed a framed photo of Mrs Jax, and looked away.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jac demanded, snapping automatically into Consultant mode. Aaron Jax had come into her office all guns blazing; now it was her turn.

It would have had a marked affect should he actually have noticed what she'd said. Aaron swept a hand towards a table covered in mugs and glasses "Drink?"

Jac rolled her eyes pointedly "No."

"Suit yourself." Aaron adjusted his tie slightly, and gave Jac a leery smile "So. We're both looking for Poppy. Why's that?"

"She left four packed suitcases in her room." Jac said, averting her gaze to the ceiling so she didn't have to look into his face.

Aaron smirked and spun round to get a drink. "Right. And?"

"And that means she's planning on staying with you, obviously."

Aaron smiled properly now, taking a sip of coffee, and relaxing his stance. "I get it. You don't want me to have custody of my own daughter."

"As it happens," Jac replied frostily "No I don't. You're not fit to be her parent. You're never here for Christ's sake!"

Jac had started to shout, people were beginning to stare, and Aaron's smile had been replaced with a look of fury.

"Keep your voice down!" Aaron reached for Jac's elbow to steer her back out of the building, but Jac stood her ground. She'd dealt with men like Mr Jax before, and she wasn't about to be bullied by another of them.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is there something you're ashamed of all these people hearing? Is it maybe that you've been avoiding your daughter, that you've left her to rot in the foster care system when she could be with you, or that you've seemingly lost her?" Jac crossed her arms and fixed Aaron with a steely gaze "Tell me what's going on."

"Outside" Aaron muttered, spinning on his heel and marching out of the building. Jac followed. The man was ridiculous, but she might get more information from him if she played along. So outside it had to be.

"Mr Jax, where's Poppy?"

Aaron leant against the church wall and rubbed a hand over his face. Jac saw for the first time how tired he was, and fought hard against the twinge of pity that disturbed her train of thought.

"She left about half an hour ago. We had an argument."

"Oh right, well any idea _where_ she's gone, because I believe that's what I asked you." Jac couldn't contain the sarcastic tone to her voice. The man was an idiot. Jac didn't care why Poppy had gone, she could ask the girl herself later. All she needed to know was where the hell she was.

"Nope."

"So you saw your fourteen year old daughter off from the funeral of her own mother with a few harsh words and left her to wander the streets until she stopped feeling sad, is that it?"

"Look, I told her she can't live with me. I fucking told her, ok? She wouldn't stop pestering me about it, and she can't live with me because I'm moving to Dubai at the end of the month with my girlfriend and my son, but it just came out at the wrong moment, and she flipped."

Jac let herself be soothed by the idea of Poppy staying with her for the foreseeable future, before relaunching her assault.

"Right and so you just let her run off?"

Aaron stood up, annoyed himself now "Hang on. What gives you the right to come in here, to my ex-wife's funeral, and lecture me about how I parent my child? You've got a two year old right? So you've been a parent, what, all of five minutes?"

"I'm sorry, I don't think you've actually answered my question yet!" Jac was losing her patience. He just wouldn't give her the information she needed, and if he'd stop hedging round it, she could leave to find Poppy.

"She needs time to get her head straight,"

"Parent of fourteen years just made possibly the stupidest decision possible concerning his own daughter, and yet here he is, lecturing me." Jac pondered aloud as she headed towards her car.

"I heard that." Aaron Jax spat after her.

Jac turned around, hand on the door handle, and glared at him "Good. You were meant to. I'm off to find your daughter. Maybe I'll let you know if I find her, maybe I won't. It'll do you good to worry about something other than yourself and your own interests. Your problem is that you're weak. You want the glamorous life, in a hot country with your new family, instead of the reality that you should be dealing with, because you're too damn lazy to cope with it." Jac's icy gaze was withering Mr Jax, she could see him crumbling beneath the surface.

"Your job in Dubai is not the be all and end all, Mr Jax. Believe me, I've been to Dubai myself. It's vastly overrated. You're losing out. You can fill your life with as many new girlfriends and new children as you want, but it will still be the empty, meaningless little hell-hole that it is now, forever. Because you're a nasty, spineless, selfish little nothing."

Jac slid smoothly into her car seat, shutting the door with a satisfying clunk, revved the engine, let the wheels spin in the gravel, and left.

She had that exhilarated feeling that she always got after winning an argument. She was still angry, sure. She could have come up with so many more insulting words to describe Aaron Jax, but the longer she spent degrading him, the more time she wasted. She needed to find Poppy.

And now she was driving, she had no idea where to go. First try was home; but Jac's house was across town. The church was near Poppy's school, the hospital, and the town centre.

Jac dragged her phone from the charging point in the compartment between the seats, and stabbed furiously at the fingerprint scanner, before calling Sarah. She dropped the phone into her lap and left it on speaker.

"Sarah! Is Poppy at home?"

"Er, no, just Emma and me-"

Jac hung up, and threw the phone onto the passenger seat. For fucks sake, where could she have gone?

The traffic was beginning to pile up. It was 4.30, practically rush hour, and Jac found herself squeezing through the queue down Blenheim Avenue and across the roundabout to the hospital, almost subconsciously. She pulled into a space and paused to think. Even if Poppy wasn't there now, she reasoned, someone might have seen her. It had to be a step closer.

Jac threw open the car door and sprinted through the car park as fast as her boots would let her. She dodged a gurney and three paramedics to get into reception, and was only slowed by the lift, which hadn't arrived.

As she was jabbing impatiently at the buttons, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and turned around to shout at whoever had touched her without an invitation.

It was Zosia.

"Ms Naylor." She smiled.

Jac ran a hand through her hair, desperately trying to calm herself before she spoke "Dr March. How are you doing?"

"I've been discharged." Zosia's beam was on the mega-watt level, Jac thought. Tone it down.

"That's great," Jac turned back to the lift, which still hadn't arrived, and prodded the buttons once more for good measure.

"Is everything ok?" Zosia asked concernedly.

"No, actually. Poppy ran off from the funeral after she had a fight with her father, and no one knows where she is. I'm trying to see if she's been here."

Zosia wrinkled her nose "Why would she come here?"

"I don't know, familiarity? She was here when she lost her mum, she knows people."

"She won't be here, Jac."

Jac spun around furiously "You don't know that Zosia!"

"Yes I do." Zosia stood firm. "I've been in that position, remember? She won't be here."

Jac visibly sagged. She felt her shoulders slump with exhaustion, and to her shame, her eyes fill with tears.

And now Zosia's noticed, Jac thought with irritation, noting the junior's concerned expression, and wiping the tears away.

"Well where's she going to be then?"

Zosia stopped for a sip of her coffee, and looked on thoughtfully as the lift finally, blessedly, pinged into life.

"Have you tried her old house?"

Jac retracted the step she'd taken into the lift, and moved aside to let a porter and a wheelchair in.

"As in her mum's house?"

"Yep. That's her home, isn't it? Why wouldn't she try and go home when she's hurting? That's where I went after Mama died. Straight to our old house."

"That's not a terrible idea." Jac didn't bother to hide her surprise.

Zosia smiled, despite the backhanded insult, and nudged Jac with an elbow "Go! You're wasting time!"

Jac allowed herself to smile back, and ran out of the lobby back to her car. The keys were still in the ignition, and normally she'd have been furious with herself, but she couldn't bring herself to care, she couldn't think about anything other than finding Poppy.

Jac pulled out of the car park, desperately trying to summon any repressed memories of the route to Poppy's house. It had been light that time; it was almost pitch black now. All she could see were the flashes of headlights and indicators as she queued for the traffic lights.

Just as she was passing through and turning right into Elm Road, her vision blurred. Jac panicked, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, and braking sharply, but the blurriness stayed the same. It wasn't until she noticed the constant tapping sound emanating from the roof that she realised it was raining.

Wipers on, Jac thought, flicking at the switch impatiently as she headed down the road. She was pretty sure it was a right, and then a left, but all the streets looked the same round here. She followed the roads as best she could, shouting through the window at anyone in her way, driving round endless blocks of Victorian terraces and semis, becoming more and more furious, until she found Noel Drive. This, Jac was sure, was the one.

She pulled up midway down the road, across from a hideous yellow Beetle that she recognised from last time, and, yanking her coat collar as far over her head as it would reach, she made for Poppy's house.

Jac stopped short at the driveway. The for-sale sign was the first thing to catch her eye, and Jac was saddened at how unsurprising it was. The second thing she saw was the small person slumped on the doorstep. Jac didn't know whether or not to go to her. She'd be angry, and cold, and tired, and upset, and Jac didn't want to aggravate the situation. So she called across the driveway instead, waiting for permission to go across and help.

"Poppy! It's me, it's Jac!"

The figure on the doorstep rose slowly, the dim streetlights revealing a sodden girl with a crumpled red dress and long hair plastered to her head, shaking.

Jac's heart broke at the sight of her.

Poppy stepped slowly towards Jac, through cold sludgy puddles in her sandal-clad feet, until she reached the end of the driveway. She looked up at Jac, tears mingling with raindrops down her pale cheeks, and choked "He's changed the locks."

And with that, Poppy flung herself into Jac's open arms.

Jac wrapped her coat around Poppy, hugging her as tight as she could. The two stood at the bottom of the driveway as one, Poppy half wrapped in Jac's coat, Jac's arms looped tightly round Poppy's shoulders. Jac had no idea how long they were standing in the rain for, but she knew when Poppy eventually pulled away that it was worth it, however long, because it was warming and healing for her.

"Jac, he's repainted and everything. All the stuff is gone. What am I going to do?"

"You're going to get in the car and come home with me. And you're going to have a bath and a hot meal and put on some dry clothes and warm yourself up. And you're going to unpack your suitcases. And you're going to get over him and make a life for yourself. That's what's going to happen."

"What about Mum?"

Jac took Poppy's face into her hands, and wiped the hot tears that trailed down her cheekbones away with her thumbs.

"Pops, she's not the house, or the things inside it. She's your mum, and she'll always be with you, in your memories and your thoughts. She's never going to leave you. And you never have to get over her, if you don't want to."

"It hurts so much." Poppy buried her face into Jac's coat. Jac took her in her arms again, resting her chin on Poppy's damp head, and stroking her hair.

"I know, kid." She said. "I know."

Poppy hugged Jac tighter with each word, as if clinging onto a life raft in the middle of a storm. Jac ached to reassure her.

"You're going to get through this. I promise."


End file.
